


Burning Records

by a_forgotten_note



Series: The Embers [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: AU, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, How to Make yourself disappear in the Modern World for Dummies, M/M, Sexual Content, established relationships - Freeform, magic and the modern world collide spectacularly, vampires and other miscellaneous creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2020-11-02 09:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 67,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_forgotten_note/pseuds/a_forgotten_note
Summary: In the aftermath of old, family grudges and netherworld magicks, Logan and Virgil are left comfortable and domestic. With the Carron clan no longer a threat to them or humanity, they settle into the happy, uneventful present.Until a stranger barges through their door. But this time, it's not Logan's past coming back to haunt them.It's Patton's.What can become of an afterlife when it's riddled with holes and questions that no one, not even Patton himself can answer?Logan is no detective, but if he has to, he'll lie, cheat, and burn his way through the past to make it all disappear.Even if that means burning himself alive.





	1. Chapter 1

Logan was stiff when he stood straight; his neck was sore from leaning over the body, cleaning the scarred tissue of the deceased, and wiping away the light stains of iodine from the skin. Virgil was still perched at the head of the embalming table, his mouth set in a stern line as he carefully passed a makeup brush over the deceased’s cheeks.

Body-prepping had increased in efficiency since Virgil joined his mortuary. He no longer had to depend on Roman’s outdated theatrical makeup counsel. Patton wasn’t required to help stitch tissue together on a murder victim. It was simpler, in a way, having an assistant that he so clearly trusted. Somehow, it was methodical and calming to have Virgil in the room with him, quiet and focused on the work. There was no need for small talk. No unease if either of them had a drink of blood. And complete understanding if one took a break.

Domesticity and work melded together, creating a network of emotions that stood strong in Logan’s everyday routine. It was almost startling to see himself being undone and reworked like this. He wasn’t the same Logan Stein that exacted revenge on his mother’s murderer... no, now he was Logan Stein, simply a man who was hopelessly in love with his business partner. A quiet, ordinary man. Unremarkable in most every way. Just the way it should be.

Peeling off his latex gloves, Logan sighed tiredly. Virgil didn’t twitch where he sat at the head of the table, studiously brushing a warmer color of foundation over pale, lifeless skin.

“What time is it?” Virgil asked absently, not lifting his head. Logan checked his watch and winced.

“Half past eight,” he said as he unrolled his sleeves and pushed them down. “It seems we lost track of time.”

Virgil hummed and sat back, rubbing his neck a bit. “I guess.” He glanced at the subject of their work — one Thomas Clancey, a victim of an armed robbery — and sniffed tiredly. “I think I’m burned out for the night anyway.”

“Reasonably so,” Logan rolled the body rack back toward the small hatch in the wall, ready to put Mr. Clancey away for the day. He was used to going to bed with Virgil earlier. A routine sleeping schedule was just another facet of their domesticity. He closed and locked Mr. Clancey’s cooler door, stifling a yawn as he did so. “I think... a small drink, and then bed would be most appropriate.”

Another hum from Virgil, and Logan felt the air in the room shift. Virgil walked behind him, brushing past with a gentle, acknowledging hand against the small of his back, as he headed for the door.

“I need a shower,” he grumbled tiredly as he passed a hand through his hair. “I feel gross... probably look like crap, too.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow; Virgil looked practically perfect. In a laid-back, disheveled and charming kind of way. With tired eyes and a slightly rumpled shirt, he was the picture of a young, attractive man in sleepy repose. And yet... he was so much more.

He was a young, recently changed vampire. A human wrenched into the netherworld by the fragile seams of his mortal soul. Immortal and imperfect, Virgil was a newcomer to the life that succeeded the afterlife. His adjustment was nearly frictionless, though there were still times he stumbled into confusion. A mistaken step outside during the daytime, chewing his lip when unaware of his sharp canines, and misjudging speed when descending the stairs... easily fixed mistakes. But endearing nonetheless.

It was simply another thing that made life with Virgil enjoyable (if not surprisingly interesting). Logan watched him shuffle up the stairs, calling a quick ‘goodnight’ to Patton where he sat in the lobby, filing papers. Logan smiled and poured himself a glass of blood, too lazy to warm it completely. He drank, bid Patton a good day, and went upstairs.

When he reached the bedroom, Virgil was tapping away at his phone. Most likely texting Remy again. Logan didn’t mind this. He kissed the nape of Virgil neck before he worked on removing his tie. Virgil had pushed him, months ago, to buy a bed. It was the greatest fiscal decision he’d made in the past century. Beds were far more comfortable than coffins, and though they lacked the privacy or pleasant quietness of the coffin, they were much easier to fall into and sleep after a long day.

At the dresser, Virgil hummed thoughtfully. “You know Remy’s uncle? The alchemist? Looks like he’s messing with homunculi.”

Logan frowned and bent down to untie his shoes. “Those are a messy business. I’d recommend avoiding the shop for the next month or so.”

Virgil’s voice was muffled as he worked on pulling his hoodie over his head. “Made one before?”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you _made _a homunculi-thing? Whatever that is.”

“A homunculus is an artificial body,” Logan said as he laid back on the bed. Virgil tossed his hoodie at him, and Logan took a deep breath of his scent before dropping the garment in the laundry bin next to the bed. “And no, I haven’t. My mother was more into alchemy and magic than I. I never found an interest.”

“Magic,” Virgil snorted as he kicked off his pants and wandered toward the bathroom. He walked slowly, letting Logan get a good look before he disappeared into the shower. Over the sound of the water, he said, “Can I do that?”

“Magic?” Logan said softly as he rubbed his eyes. “I’d suppose. It would take significant trailing and thought. But, as with all things, it can be taught.”

He could hear Virgil step into the shower, his hands pulling the shower curtain squeaky and loud across the rail. “Rem’s excited. Thinks he can show me cool Wiccan stuff.”

“Even humans can dabble in Wicca,” Logan said numbly. His eyes were tired. His body was drained. For the first time in many, many years… he felt like an old man. Exhausted from a simple day of work and ready to sleep the hours away. “You needn’t be a nether-creature to consort with the nether-world.”

“Find a less pretentious way to say that.”

Logan huffed a laugh and set his glasses on the bedstead. “Anyone can play pretend with magic… it’s those with training that can actually alter the elements.”

In the shower, Virgil laughed, and the sound echoed off the tiled walls. “Still pretentious, but I’ll give you two points for a solid effort.”

“Two points,” Logan drawled as he relaxed against the pillows. “Lucky me.”

The shower turned off some time later. Logan wasn’t sure if he’d fallen asleep or not, but he was half-awake when Virgil crawled across the bed and flopped down next to him, humid and damp from the shower. His wet hair was leaving a large wet-patch on his shoulder, but Logan didn’t mind. He was comfortable here, living an unremarkable domestic life. He had a partner. He had friends. He was _in love_. He’d never expected things to turn out this way.

If anything, he’d expected his life to end those short weeks ago. He’d expected that he would leave the world as an unimportant, forgettable mortician who happened to die in a freak accident. He hadn’t expected to survive… or want to live after it all came to an end.

But there he was. _Living_ in this afterlife with Virgil in his bed, in his arms, in his _everything. _Using his shampoo and cologne and snapping at his elitist remarks. He would drink Logan’s hidden supply of blood and flick rubber bands on him during slow days. He would make love to him often, drag him to bed and sigh when Logan came undone… it was a strange, peaceful life.

Logan had never _craved_ domesticity. But there it was. And he’d never felt so completely at peace with himself.

It was this peace, mind you, that ushered in the sound of the front door opening and closing. A stranger had come into the house. Perhaps a client. Someone to ask about funeral services. Logan didn’t mind; upstairs was off-limits and Patton knew how to deal with a client.

However, this didn’t mean that Logan was completely at ease. Something was tickling the back of his mind as he lay, suddenly awake and listening to the low murmur of Patton’s voice through the floorboards. Murphy’s Law was triggered somewhere in the depths of his mind and in more than just a physical sense, Logan was ill at ease. Against him, Virgil seemed to twitch and stiffen.

“Hey… are you okay? You’ve gone all… rigid.”

Logan didn’t have a chance to answer before Roman stepped through the door and into his bedroom looking more than a bit discomforted. Virgil spasmed, twisting on the bed so he could cover his bare legs while Roman looked on, disinterested.

“There’s a girl downstairs,” he said, sounding mildly alarmed. Logan quirked an eyebrow as Virgil pulled the blankets up and over them.

“Surely, you’ve seen a woman before, Roman. What did you used to call yourself, in the twenties?”

Roman grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest. His billowing shirt gave him an look of ‘Somewhat inconvenienced Lord in Repose’. Not that Logan would ever admit such a thing. “Now is _hardly _the time to play know-it-all, Logan.” There was a significant lapse in time, and then Roman muttered, “And I wasn’t serious about it.”

Logan pursed his lips and said, “Aha, yes. You called yourself a… _womanizer_. With that suave talk of yours. That, and the sway when you walk.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “_Logan_.”

“He’s right,” Virgil said from under the covers, his face somewhere near Logan’s thigh. He was comfortably warm under there, and Logan had no intentions of making him move. So he spoke from under the blankets when he said, “You _do _kinda swagger when you walk. Like… what’s the word. Jaunty?”

“This isn’t the time to talk about the way I walk!” Roman paused, looked at his legs, and then shook his head. “This _isn’t_ the time! There is a _girl _downstairs.”

“And there are _many _of them outside,” Logan said tiredly as he threw an arm over his eyes. Still snuggled between his legs, Virgil wriggled until he could comfortably lay his head on Logan’s stomach. Logan placed a hand on the back of his head, holding him in place while he settled back against the mattress. “The world is _full_ of women, Roman.”

“No. No, you don’t get it,” Roman stepped forward to loom over the bed. He smelled of that awful cologne he died in. That, an unhealthy amount of dust. Like musty bookshelves… only worse. Logan frowned up at him, but Roman didn’t back away. He looked shaken. That made Logan uncomfortable. “She’s asking _questions_, Logan. Questions about where we were before this.”

“Us… as in the mortuary?” Logan asked, his interest sparked and red flags raised in the corner of his mind. Virgil had sat up again, letting Logan get out of bed as he followed Roman out of the bedroom. In a moment, he was sure that Virgil would be on their heels. “Why would she ask something like that? Is she with a paper? A student?”

“Maybe?” Roman said, his voice frantic as his body flickered in and out of corporeality. He was stressed, that was clear. Obviously, this ‘girl’ was asking difficult questions. Roman had come upstairs to ask Logan for help… and that meant _Patton _was left to keep her. That wouldn’t do. Roman wrung his hands as they approached the stairs, talking in a low voice to avoid being overheard as he said, “She knows things, Logan. She knows one of Patton’s old names.”

Logan stopped with his hand on the railing, looking at Roman sharply. “How… what… that doesn’t make sense. We left _no trail_ of our presence. No names in the paper, no documentation left to banks or lawyers, no photographs…”

Roman shook his head and leaned forward to hiss, “She called him ‘Mr. Harvey.’ You _know _he hasn’t used that name since 1937!”

“Yes, of course I know that, I gave him the name.” Logan drummed his fingers on the rail restlessly.

1937… where had they been, then? They had been in Ethel, Mississippi for some time… but then moved north, hiding somewhere in the Midwest. There, they were supposed to be ignorable. Unmemorable. And yet… and _yet_. Virgil stepped out of the bedroom fully clothed with a nonplussed expression. Logan spared him a glance… and walked down stairs.

Logan found this young woman pinning Patton to the desk that was used to keep their files and reservations in order. The poor man looked positively beside himself with confused fear. The girl looked endlessly amused by his fidgeting, tucking ruffled brown hair behind her ear as she smiled up at Patton with uncomfortably familiar eyes. Logan approached them with a stiff expression.

“Good morning, Miss,” Logan said, extending his hand to the girl politely. She looked at him, smiled, and took his hand. “My name is Logan Stein, the owner of the mortuary. Is there something I can help you with?”

The girl didn’t stop smiling as she shook her head. “I was just talking to Patton, here. Mister… Jenkins, right? When did you change your name?”

Patton blinked hard, glancing at Logan helplessly as he said, “I’ve… never, ma’am. I’ve _always _been Patton Jenkins.”

That excuse didn’t convince anyone, least of all the young woman. Even so, she didn’t lose that unnerving smile. She looked oddly happy to be there, like the mortuary was a new brand of amusement park and she was first in line to climb aboard a roller coaster. Logan heard Virgil descend the stairs, and he could feel Virgil watching from the stairwell, sharp and intent as he observed the interaction.

Logan tried to be polite as he said, “We _are _a business. You must understand that we have work to do, Miss…” he kept the edge from his voice as he said, “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

“Me?” She asked, almost like she’d been waiting for the question to arise. Logan narrowed his eyes. Her smile reminded Logan of something… something sharp. He didn’t like the way her eyes lingered on him and Patton. “My name is Charlotte. Charlotte Fields.”

“Miss Fields,” Logan said as Roman stepped into the room again, sweeping up behind the desk to glare at Charlotte. She paid him no mind, her eyes flicking from Patton to Logan and back. Logan frowned and said, “Have you lost a loved one? We would be happy to organize a service—”

“No,” Charlotte said crisply, that smile never leaving. “I haven’t. Not recently, anyway.”

Patton was fidgeting with his hands uneasily, giving Charlotte a forced smile. “Well, Miss Fields… if you haven’t lost a loved one… what can we help you with?”

Charlotte smiled, tucking a lock of long, red hair behind her ear as she turned to Patton. “I’ve actually come here to talk to you, Mr. Jenkins. I thought you might have some information for me.”

Patton blinked before he launched back into his perfect act of customer service. “Of… of course, Miss Charlotte! I’d be happy to tell you anything you like about the services and funerals we provide. Our accommodations are –”

“No. No, no…” Charlotte shook her head fondly. “Not that.”

Patton’s eyes flickered to Logan, almost like he was looking for assistance. Logan had no idea what he could do to help. This woman was an enigma. She obviously wasn’t a run-of-the-mill customer looking for a funeral service. She was something else. A stranger with an agenda. Like an old-fashioned door-to-door vacuum salesman. Logan had a suspicion she was trouble… and his intuition was proved right the longer Charlotte stood in their hallway.

“I’m hoping you could tell me some things about my grandmother,” she said. She was still smiling. Still calm. Warm and personable… she almost seemed _excited_. It made her look out of place in a mortuary.

Patton almost made a move to go to his desk and check their records… but something stopped him. Perhaps it was his foresight that kept him from turning his back to the stranger. Maybe he was simply on edge. Regardless, he shifted on his feet a fraction of an inch… only to reassert himself and smile thinly at Charlotte.

“Your grandmother?” Logan asked, his patience running thin. Charlotte nodded, adjusting the bag that was slung over her shoulder.

“You should know her, I think,” she said, “I mean… she and Patton are in the picture together.”

Logan twitched; picture? What _picture? _He had done everything possible to erase all trace of Patton from his family farmhouse long, long ago. In the years since, they had been cautious and carefully kept out of the pages of history. Now this woman knew of a picture of him… it must have been an old tin-type that Patton’s family had taken. One that was sadly holding Patton to the linear time-plane and creating an unfortunate liability.

Charlotte was calm as she produced a photo album from her bag, struggling to cradle it in one arm and leaf through the plastic, crinkling pages with the other. Black and white photographs turning beige with time; oxidizing and burning away as Charlotte overlooked the unimportant people within the pages. She stopped on a specific page and turned the book to face Patton. Without thought, Logan stepped forward to see this so-called picture of Patton and Charlotte’s grandmother.

Patton had gone pale where he stood staring down at the picture. His hands, folded out of desperation or maybe prayer, were white-knuckled with stress. He didn’t breathe. As soon as Logan saw the picture, he knew why.

It was an old, old photo. The couple that stood in front of an old Public House were stiff and stern with dignity. Patton wore pressed shirt and slacks, his glasses taken off to avoid glare in the sun. His farm boy roots stuck out with the worn, scuffed shoes that were fading in the picture… but Logan didn’t mind him. He was focused on Charlotte’s grandmother. The woman next to him wore heavy petticoats and lacey, white gloves. Long, curling hair tumbled over her shoulders, only partially pulled out of her face with a decorative ribbon. A parasol shaded her from the sun.

Logan leaned back from the photo, giving Patton a silent, knowing look. Patton didn’t dare to return the gaze. He didn’t only _recognize _the woman in the photo… he knew why Charlotte was here. And it terrified him. He looked like he’d easily be knocked over with a feather.

“I _knew _it was you,” Charlotte said, staring at Patton with an earnest smile. Patton gaped, his mouth opening to deny the claim… only to shut again for lack of words. Charlotte smiled and pointed to the woman in the photograph. “I mean… you never married, but we always knew it was _you_.”

Patton blinked hard, reaching up to straighten his glasses with a trembling hand. “M-me? I’m… ma’am, I’m just… just thirty years old! I couldn’t… I’m not –”

“I know it’s you. I know what you are.” Charlotte’s eyes were bright, and her smile was wide. She was buzzing with excitement, tapping the photograph in earnest. “I mean… she told us it was you. And we know that you –”

“She?” Logan intercepted, already knowing the answer. He needed to _hear_ it. He needed to have definitive proof that his eyes weren’t failing him. He needed facts. “Who is _she_?”

Charlotte was hardly bothered by the interruption. In fact, she merely smiled at Logan. “My grandmother,” she said, matter-of-factly. Then, she turned to Patton and said, “You took this picture with her, almost ninety years ago.”

Patton looked like he might vomit. He looked to Roman for help, but Roman didn’t come to his rescue. Logan would be surprised if Roman could have even managed a word in his defense. He looked heartbroken. Like a long-lost secret had been dragged into the light and Roman was the harmless, lovesick victim, looking at the man he’d fallen in love with.

For all intents and purposes, it seemed like Patton had started… _something_… with Charlotte’s grandmother, all those years ago. And now it was documented in print and paper. Logan grimaced at the sight, unsure of whether he wanted to snatch the photo album and burn it… or simply walk away. Charlotte could have copies. She _knew _what Patton was. There must have been more proof. It _burned_ not knowing what she had access to…

How easily could she tear their world asunder?

Charlotte looked nonchalant as she closed her album and tucked it back into her bag. “Nan said it was a summer fling? I mean, you came in, swept her off her feet, and then… gone.” She pointedly looked at Logan. “He talked about his boss, though. A Mr. Porter.” Logan frowned; he hadn’t gone by the name ‘Porter’ for fifty-two years. Charlotte went on. “Said that he was going to send them upstate. My Nan looked for you when she found out she was pregnant, but,” she shrugged. “Guess she never found you.”

Reaching blindly for the desk, Patton’s knees visibly shook as he owlishly repeated, “Pre… pregnant.”

“Patton,” Logan snapped, more than a little frustrated. “_What _is she talking about?”

“A summer romance,” Charlotte said again, clearly enjoying himself. “And, Mr. Porter—”

“Stein,” Logan corrected sharply. Charlotte ignored this.

“Mr. Porter, if you hadn’t made him leave, I’m sure things would’ve ended differently.”

“Rachel,” Patton said after a moment of thought. Charlotte grinned, but Patton looked horribly shaken as he looked down at his hands and said, “Her name… was Rachel. We… we were just friends! But… I… I always wondered what happened to her after…”

“After you left,” Charlotte said, patting her bag happily. Logan frowned.

Patton had just confirmed everything. So he’d had some sort of romantic tryst with this ‘Rachel’ back in the thirties. Logan hadn’t known. Roman _obviously _hadn’t known. And Patton… he still looked confused. How could he just _forget _having sexual relations with a woman?

“Miss Fields,” Logan said, earning himself a sharp look from the girl.

“Just Charlotte.”

“Miss Fields,” Logan said again, this time a little more forceful as he stepped forward to insert himself into the situation. “What is it, exactly, that you want from us?” Charlotte looked at him, intrigued, and raised an eyebrow. Logan crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you want money? Is that why you’re here? Are you going to try to drag Patton’s name into light?”

Charlotte laughed. She _laughed_, and Logan was bitter for it. “Ha! Nah, I don’t want _money_. No, I just wanted to know who my grandpa was!”

Patton reached for something, fumbling for a stool as he nearly collapsed on the spot. “_Grandpa_…” he ran a shivering hand through his hair, his southern accent pronounced loudly as he said, “Lord Almighty in Heaven…”

“I go to school a few towns over. Anyway, I saw something interesting in the paper,” she said proudly. “Something about students going missing and I thought… ‘hey! My grandpa went missing all those years ago!’ and now here we are.”

Logan grinded his teeth and glanced at Virgil over his shoulder. He looked uncomfortable. He didn’t know how to fix this situation… neither did Logan. It was all unwinding like a mess of string, laying out art that was so abstract, Logan couldn’t find the pattern or even the start of it. Charlotte went on, breaking down their carefully-laid life of illusion with every word.

“I showed some people your picture and they went ‘oh yeah! The guy at the mortuary!’” She smiled at Patton, but Patton looked one breath away from fainting. “And I can _totally _see it. My mom had your eyes.”

“M-my,” Patton took a shuddering breath, his eyes glistening as he held a hand to his lips. “I have… have a daughter?”

“Had,” Charlotte said softly. “You _had_. She passed away ten years ago.”

Logan looked to Roman for assistance, but the wraith looked like he’d died all over again. He looked ravaged by this information and when his silhouette turned hazy and translucent, Logan wasn’t the least bit surprised. Trying to diffuse the situation again, Logan crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Miss Charlotte, I find it hard to believe that you’re here out of some sentimental duty.”

She looked at him, her eyes almost going right through him as she smiled. “No, I’m not.”

“Then what do you want?”

There, her stare lingered. Her smile turned cold. Her hands gripped the strap of her bag, and she looked nearly malicious when she said, “I wanted to see the guy who took my grandfather away. I wanted to see who ruined my grandmother’s life.”

Logan stepped back, clearly confused. “I did no such thing—”

“You took him away,” she said as she gestured to Patton. The man in question blinked spastically. “Do you _know_ how hard it was to be a single mother in 19-fucking-38?”

Logan glowered. “I will _not _be held responsible for Patton’s sexual deviancies.”

Patton sat up ramrod straight, his spine rigid as he said, “I didn’t have…! I didn’t! I don’t… I wouldn’t.” He held a hand to his head, frantically searching his memories as he mumbled, “I… don’t _think _I did, I…”

“That being said,” Logan snarled as he stepped forward to crowd Charlotte’s space. She fell back instantly, her eyes going wide as he loomed over her. She was scared. Good. Logan’s eyes were dark as he looked at her over the edge of his glasses. “There’s no reason you should leave today, knowing what you do.”

Charlotte gripped her back and raised her chin. The trembling in her frame gave away her fear, but Logan didn’t step back when she said, “People know I’m here. If you hurt me, they’ll come looking for answers. Do you want that, Mr. Porter?”

Logan twitched, half-ready to slit her throat and have done with it. But Virgil stepped into the room, calm and level despite his obvious discomfort.

“Okay,” Virgil said lowly. “Okay, let’s all just… take it easy.”

Charlotte gave him a sparing glance before meeting Logan’s eye again. “I didn’t come here to confront you, Mr. Porter.”

_“Stein_,” Logan hissed. Again, she ignored him.

“I just wanted to see you. To see what kind of man you were.”

Virgil took Logan’s arm. Logan shook him away harshly, only to have Virgil’s grip return tenfold. He was calmly dragged back, and Charlotte straightened her shoulders. Virgil held Logan in place as he said, “So… you saw him. What now?” He looked awkwardly at Patton. “I mean… Patton obviously didn’t know about you. Or your mom. So, like… what good can this be?”

“He _would _have known,” Charlotte said softly. “He would have known if _he_ hadn’t taken him away.”

Patton was still shell-shocked as he said, “I… I don’t even remember sleeping with Rachel. Even if I _had_ I… I don’t—”

“Like I said,” Charlotte said again, “I’m not here to confront. I just… wanted to see you. To know the stories were real.” She smiled at Patton, a little sad as she said, “And you’re here. I just… wanted to see.”

Virgil nodded, the only calm one among the room as he said, “And… now what?”

“Now,” Charlotte adjusted the way her bag sat on her shoulder. “I’m going to leave.”

“Just… just like that,” Patton breathed, his hands shaking as he reached out through the open air, almost like he wanted to make her stay. “Maybe… maybe you should stay a minute. Have a cup of coffee. I think I have questions.”

Charlotte smiled and passed a hand through her curled brown hair. Hair that resembled Patton’s in more than one way. She smiled, and Logan burned. “Maybe some other time. I have a meeting at the Sheriff’s office.”

Patton was on his feet in an instant stepping toward her with fluttering hands that were desperate to help. “You… Sheriff’s office? Are you in trouble?”

She laughed. “No! But you’re sweet,” she said softly, “For worrying. I… man, you would’ve been a _great _dad.” At that, Patton flinched and stepped back. The movement didn’t go unnoticed as Charlotte headed for the front door. Logan trailed after her, only stopping when Virgil’s nails cut through his shirt and bit into the skin, holding him back as Charlotte opened the door and looked ack at them. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Porter.”

Once again, Logan snarled, “My name is _Stein_.”

Charlotte smiled. “Sure. Either way, you’re going to be seeing a _lot _more of me.”

“What a unique pleasure,” Logan growled, his eyes dark as Charlotte lingered in his doorway. If he were a bird of prey, his feathers would’ve been ruffled and puffed out to make himself bigger. He would’ve clawed at her to get her out of his nest. He would’ve shown Virgil his kill proudly… and their troubles would be over. But Virgil was the moral compass of their relationship, and he wouldn’t approve of murder. So, with barely-contained malcontent, Logan said, “We look forward to your company, Miss Fields.”

“Oh no,” Charlotte promised with that excited, sunshine grin. “You won’t.”


	2. Chapter 2

Silence settled over the house, uncomfortable and heavy as Patton sagged where he sat. The air was sharp with static electricity, crackling as Logan stepped forward, locked the door, and turned back to see Patton sitting at the desk.

“Patton,” he said crisply. Patton flinched at the tone of his voice but raised his head to give Logan a helpless look. “Would you care to explain this… _mess_?”

“Please?” Roman said, his voice soft and hurt. Logan ignored it, glaring at Patton’s shivering hands and anxious, wandering eyes.

“I… I don’t know how I _can _explain,” Patton said, clearly fumbling for words as Logan stared down at him. When Logan’s hovering became too apparent, Virgil stepped forward to tug him back. He went reluctantly, still bristling at the way Patton avoided his eyes. Instead, he looked to Roman, a little desperate as he said, “I didn’t know. Roman, I didn’t… I wouldn’t have… if I’d know, I would have—”

“Who was this…” Logan waved his hand flippantly. “_Rachel_ woman? What was she to you?”

Patton blinked hard. “A… a friend. She was a friend.” He looked to Roman again, “She was just a friend!” Roman didn’t look soothed.

“A friend?” Logan said sharply. Virgil gave him a warning look, but Logan ignored it. “Patton, I had you under _lock _and _key_ in 1937. You didn’t have _friends_.”

“I know,” Patton said haplessly, his hands wringing as he repeated, “I know! But I was… I was lonely, I was—”

Roman looked hurt as he murmured, “Lonely? I was your friend, darling. Angel, was I…” his body flickered anxiously. “Was I not enough for you?”

Patton’s hands were still shaking. Logan could see a cold sweat break out across his forehead. “I… I was confused, sweetheart.” His accent was slipping. The vowels stretched and he stood up, pacing as he said, “I… you know I wasn’t sure what I wanted back then! We weren’t… I mean, you an’ me weren’t—”

“Enough!” Logan snapped, making the other men in the room jump and look at him. “I want an _explanation_, Patton.”

“I can!” Patton assured him, his voice trembling as he said, “I… it was summer. I… I went out—”

“Lock and key,” Logan snarled again, and Patton stomped his foot like a petulant child.

“Let me finish! I went in the morning!”

Disregarding Virgil’s warning hand on his arm, Logan stepped forward and growled, “_Went. Where?”_

“To the bar!” Patton shouted desperately. “I went to the bar! _Daggum_, you can’t just—I went after you went to sleep! I slipped out and… and I drank, and—”

“I remember,” said Roman suddenly, his voice still sullen and heavy. “I remember that. I don’t think… you spent a single day sober, that summer.”

“What does that matter?” Logan snapped. He knew about Patton’s long tryst with alcohol. He knew that when he and Roman became involved, he set the bottle aside. He knew that Patton hadn’t touched liquor since. But this wasn’t _important_. “Who was Rachel?”

“A _friend_!” Patton said again, still shaking where he stood. “I… she was just a friend I would drink with. First she just happened to be there, and then… then she… I don’t know.” He looked at the floor with wide, confused eyes. “She was just… just a friend.”

“A drinking friend,” Logan said darkly. He stepped close again, word still sharp and malicious as he said, “You do realize that I kept you in the basement for a _reason_ back then? We weren’t sure what you were. How _strong_ you were. Patton, I regulated your comings and goings for not only the protection of the public, but for your _own_ protection.”

“Logan,” Virgil said, his voice low and careful. “Ease up, alright?”

Patton’s voice still quivered as he said, “I just… I just wanted a normal friend.”

“Ah,” Roman said, sounding a little prickly. “A _normal_ friend.”

“A human friend,” Patton said, trying to recover. Roman didn’t respond. He still looked broken where he had tucked himself behind the desk. Patton shamefully dropped his gaze to the floor. “I… I just wanted to talk to _normal _human beings. Nothing magical or nether-creature involved. I’d had enough of that with Emily.”

“You’d had enough,” Roman repeated dully.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You _know _I didn’t mean it like that,” Patton took a shuddering breath as he looked to Logan. “Rachel was just a friend. I was… struggling with myself. I just needed a friend. And that’s what she was!” He insisted, spreading his hands in surrender. “A friend! I never… I never slept with her, I…” he blinked hard and looked off to the left. “I don’t… _think _I did…”

“This is ridiculous,” Logan snapped.

“Logan,” Virgil warned, but Logan didn’t heed him.

“You have put _all of us_ in danger, Patton.”

“_Logan_,” Virgil said again, a little louder. Logan ignored him and stepped forward, poking an accusatory finger against Patton’s chest.

“Only a fool would do what you’ve done, Patton.” Logan’s voice dripped with distain and Patton’s eyes sunk to the floor. Logan went on. “It was negligent and reckless. Adding alcohol to the mix only fanned the flames!”

Patton’s hands curled into fists and he shouted back, “I drank because it made me feel _better_, Logan! For a while, I’d forget I was some… some _monster. _I felt… I felt _human _again, just talking to someone. You never spoke to me! You didn’t _want_ to speak to me!”

“I spoke to you,” Roman whispered. Everyone stopped. They looked at Roman, and he went a little hazy under the scrutiny. “I loved you, darling. Even if you wouldn’t hear it. I loved you.”

Patton’s gaze turned watery. “Roman, I—”

“I wasn’t enough, was I?” Roman asked, still heartbroken. “You were _happy _to see Charlotte. You _want _a family. I’m…” his body flickered out of corporeality, leaving his voice a hollow ring in the air when he said: “I wasn’t enough.”

“Roman,” Patton gasped, his voice catching halfway through his name. He looked around desperately, like Roman would magically reappear to him. He didn’t. Patton spun on his heel, trying to find Roman wherever he’d gone. “Roman! Please, Roman, let me explain, I just—”

“I think his anger is warranted,” Logan snapped sharply.

“He’s not _mad_, Logan.” Virgil’s voice was careful as he said, “He’s upset. He feels inadequate. Stop looking for someone to blame in his dumpster-fire of a mess.”

Logan turned on him with fire in his eyes, but Virgil only stared at him, level and calm among Logan’s anger. “This ‘mess’ wouldn’t have happened if Patton hadn’t been attached to some… some… _human!_”

“Big talk coming from _you_,” said Virgil. Logan stopped and looked at him, seeing a hurt flicker through Virgil’s steel eyes before it was replaced with indifference. “He wanted a friend. He snuck out. He found a friend. They had sex. Let’s _move on_.”

“I didn’t!” Patton said desperately, still trying to backpedal as Virgil looked at him sympathetically. “I don’t remember ever… I didn’t. I don’t think I did.”

Growling, Logan turned away and grabbed his keys from the table. Patton didn’t stop him. Virgil didn’t try to, either. Instead, he followed Logan. He was smart enough to pull up his hood when they opened the door and stepped out into the fragile, cloudy sunlight outside. Logan let it burn. He was angry and the pain felt leveling as he got into the car.

Virgil climbed into the passenger seat, putting his feet up on the seat as he curled into a tight ball of black cotton. It was much safer than Logan, who’s hands were vulnerable to the sun as he pulled out of the driveway. “Where are we going?”

“For a drive,” Logan grumbled as they pulled onto the street and started going west, avoiding the sun.

“Yeah, I got that. But where are we going?”

“For a drive,” Logan repeated. The blisters on his hands were already healing. The burns on his cheeks didn’t sting anymore. He drove, and Virgil was quiet.

“Will it make you feel better?” Virgil asked after a few minutes. “Going for ‘a drive’ or whatever.”

“Yes.”

Now Virgil actually looked at him. “Better than throwing a tantrum.”

“I do _not _throw tantrums.”

“Yeah. Well. No, not anymore. Not since we got together.” Virgil’s voice was gentle. Almost _teasing _as he said, “You’ve gotten better.”

Logan didn’t say anything about that. He just drove. Aimlessly, mostly. Going until the sun started streaming through the car on the opposite side, and then he looped around and started going east. The town passed them by. Virgil turned the air conditioning as high as it could go. He never told Logan to pull over. Never told him to stop. He let Logan drive… and stayed quiet until they came to a frustrated stop on the outskirts of town.

Logan sat stiffly in the front seat of the car, his hands resting in his lap. It felt like it was a foreign landscape. Had he really been here, a few months earlier with Virgil? Had they really sat in this same car, in this same spot, watching over the place where they deposited the body of an innocent girl?

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Virgil sat in the passenger seat, surprisingly quiet as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He pulled his feet up onto the seat, tucking his knees under his chin as he stared out the windshield. Logan watched his all from his periphery. He wasn’t sure if Virgil was watching him or not. He didn’t want to know. He felt sick; anxious in a sense that he hadn’t felt in quiet some time.

How much did Charlotte Fields know? How much ghoul was present in her thin, human blood? How much did her family know? How many secrets were hanging in the balance of one young woman’s curiosity?

“You could’ve handled that better,” Virgil finally said, his voice soft in the stillness of the car. Logan blinked, staring straight ahead as Virgil shifted where he sat. Fabric sliding over skin, and a dull, whispering rush of air as Virgil sighed slowly. “I mean… Patton didn’t _know_ about her. He didn’t know about any of this.”

Logan twitched, but didn’t say anything to that. He _knew _that Patton had been blissfully ignorant. He was a responsible man. If he’d known he’d impregnated a woman, he would own up to his actions and raise the child. He was kind to a fault. And of course… _of course_ Logan knew that. So why did it still feel so bitter? Was it because Logan himself didn’t know about Patton’s tryst? Was it because this… this… _Charlotte _was out of his realm of control? Virgil often told him he was a ‘control freak.’ Perhaps that name held merit. Perhaps Logan didn’t care. Perhaps… he wanted to.

“What would you have done?” Logan muttered, his voice a hollow rendition of itself. He could feel Virgil staring at him, now. Watching him. Checking for emotion. Logan didn’t dare repress the regret that furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “What… what would _you _have said?”

Another shift, and Virgil was turning in his seat to lean his back against the car door. This way, he could stretch his legs across the center console and drape them over Logan’s lap. Logan lifted his arms accommodatingly, staring down at Virgil’s worn, black jeans.

“I wouldn’t have called Patton a moron, for starters.”

Logan nodded, granting a bit of leeway with that statement. Logan knew he had a temper. He was working on that. Virgil was helping him. But that wasn’t what he was curious about… he wanted to know how Virgil would’ve handled the entire situation. Patton… the woman at the pub… and now, his granddaughter. And somehow, Roman fit into the situation. How would Virgil have handled it?

“He didn’t know,” Virgil said after a second of thought. Logan finally turned to him, seeing the way Virgil’s lips were pressed together in a thin, serious line. He looked up, meeting Logan’s sees. Blue against gray. The night sky meeting the stars. Virgil blinked, and the world halted its rotation. “He didn’t _know_, Logan. If he’d known, he –”

“I know,” Logan sighed, his voice so terribly weak against the word. “I know. Patton is a good man. He would have…”

“Yeah,” Virgil said. Short. Decisive. Almost irritated. “He… would have.”

“But he didn’t,” Logan said tiredly, pushing his glasses up and off his face so he could rub his eyes. “And what he did… he just…” he growled, low and irritated.

Why did this trouble him so much? It wasn’t Charlotte’s existence that bothered him. No, no. It was _how _she came into existence. Patton having a late-night encounter with a strange woman he met at a bar. It didn’t _sound_ like something he would do. But it was done. A decision was made. And now, there was a young woman who knew _exactly_ what they were.

“He was lonely,” Virgil said carefully, like he was expecting backlash for the statement. Logan simply looked at him, a little befuddled as Virgil blinked back. “You just… you caged him in. For so, _so_ long…” he shook his head, pushing a hand through his hair. “It’s no wonder he went looking for…”

“Sex?” Logan asked, a little snappish. Virgil quirked an eyebrow.

“_Comfort_,” he corrected as he crossed his arms and wiggled his feet in Logan’s lap. “I mean… from what he’s told me, Roman couldn’t stay corporeal very long back then. And I don’t think he would’ve gone to you for a hug and a kiss. No offense, but…” he gave Logan a pointed look. “You were kind of an ass-hat back then.”

Logan wrinkled his nose at that; it was true, when he was younger, in a time before Virgil, he wasn’t one to coddle others. He doubted he would’ve been able to identify comfort if it sat right in front of him. So, in that sense…

“So, you’re saying it’s my fault,” said Logan. It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t a statement spoken in anger. He was simply stating it. Like he needed to come to terms with it. He was the cause for Patton’s irresponsibility. The reason for the possible downfall of the nether-creature realm. He never thought this would be the case… but if anyone were to ruin nether-convention, he’d supposed he was a prime candidate.

Virgil, on the other hand, simply sighed. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just…” he stopped short, rethinking his words as he pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m just saying you were different back then. I mean… from everything Patton and Roman have told me, you were pretty fucking cold. And harsh. But, like,” he waved his hand vaguely. “More than usual.”

For a moment, Logan chewed this statement, placing his hands atop Virgil’s legs and feeling the rough, black denim under his fingertips. Virgil held still, watching him carefully as Logan thought. Did he know that Logan was… dare he say it… _scared_? Did he know that Logan was hoping – no, _praying _that he was no longer the cold, sad man he used to be? Did Virgil know that Logan struggled with that thought every day? That Logan was scared he would say something wrong, _do _something incorrect, and Virgil would leave him? Did he know how it scared him? How it ruled his every waking moment?

Turning to Virgil, Logan licked his lips and whispered, “I’ve changed.” Virgil blinked, his expression neutral and calm. Logan tried again, pressing a bit when he said, “I… I’m different. _You_ made me want to be… better. I wanted to be a better man because of you. You… I’m –”

“I know,” Virgil said with a small, crooked smile. “I know you are. And all that stuff is in the past… we can’t really change what happened. And, though I am _awesome _at overanalyzing and being anxious… we just need to move forward. Figure out what to do next.”

Logan felt a wave of affection wash over him. Virgil was so smart. Smarter than he knew. Reasonable and mature. He loved him. And Virgil loved him. Logan couldn’t believe that he had the chance to meet him, let alone love him. It was one miracle after the next. And now… now this was just one more challenge they had to face.

While Logan thought, Virgil tapped the top of his thighs and muttered, “Do you think she’s a threat?” When Logan gave him a confused look, Virgil reiterated: “Charlotte, I mean.”

“Do you?” Logan asked, politely side-stepping the question. Virgil let him, answering with a soft, world-weary sigh.

“I think she’s just looking for someone. Someone who understands.” He looked a little misty when he leaned his head back against the car window. “Someone who can just… be there for her. In a way that normal people couldn’t. Or something… I don’t know.” He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant after a moment of vulnerability. Logan smiled.

“Is that what you found in us?” He asked, genuinely curious as Virgil gave him an amused look. “Where you looking for someone to understand you? Is that what you found in my mortuary?”

Smiling a little wider, Virgil wiggled his feet again. “I don’t know. I found _something_… I just don’t know what to call it.” He paused, still smiling as Logan watched him. Gazing longingly. Staring affectionately. Too many adjectives and not enough verbs. It was silly. It was intimate. It was perfect in every sense of imperfection. Logan adored it, despite the contradictions. Virgil smiled, and the world wasn’t quite as overwhelming. “It’s good, though,” he said after a few beats of thought. “It’s good.”

While Logan looked at him, Virgil squirmed and turned up the air conditioning again. The sun was starting to creep along the dashboard as noon rolled into 1 p.m. Poor Virgil looked like he might melt in his hoodie. Logan almost made a move to start the car… almost. Virgil spoke first.

“So?” Virgil asked, his feet wiggling to and fro in Logan’s lap. “What are we gonna do about Charlotte?”

Logan’s smile melted into a grimace. “I’m not quite sure yet.”

“Okay,” Virgil nodded, the word dragging along his tongue leisurely. “That’s chill. Just...” he spread his hands calmly. “Go easy on Pat? Until you figure it out? I mean... this can’t be easy for him.”

Logan twitched, his eyes sliding over to see the ditch where Amanda Cole’s body had been found, days before. “How so?”

Virgil let out a long-suffering sigh and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus, Logan... how would you feel if you found out you knocked some chick up?”

“I wouldn’t. I’ve never had sexual relations with a woman.”

“Wow. Hot. But seriously... he was drunk. Lonely. You cut him off from the world. And now? That’s backfiring in his face. Bad shit is going down.”

Logan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So it _is_ my fault.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault, babe,” said Virgil. Logan felt something in his chest twist at the endearment, and Virgil went on. “It’s just... something that happened. And now we have to deal with it.”

Taking Virgil’s hand, Logan laced their fingers together. There, he could kiss the back of Virgil’s hand and let out a tired sigh. “Yes, we do. And the sooner the better,” he looked out the window again, spotting hints of yellow investigation flags and chalk-lines in the dirt. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly and Virgil squeezed his hand. “This ‘Charlotte’ didn’t come here for nothing, that’s certain. And we don’t have the luxury to wait and find out what she wants.”

Virgil’s voice was more curious than rejecting when he said, “You’re not gonna kill her, are you?”

“No,” Logan said softly. “I’m going to do much worse. I’m going to let her live.”

Virgil laughed. “Ooh, ominous.”

Cracking a smile, Logan glances at him quickly. “Only in the sense that she will come to us.”

“So,” Virgil said, twisting their hands so he could drag Logan closer. “Charlotte comes to us and then...?”

“We get our answers.”

“Uh-huh. And then?”

“Hopefully,” Logan said with a tired snake of his head. “She can be dismissed.”

Virgil quirked an eyebrow and repeated, “Dismissed.”

“Sent away,” Logan clarified. “And then this whole ordeal can simply be... forgotten.”

“Patton’s already forgotten enough,” Virgil said softly, his voice a little sad as he lifted his legs and turned to sit forward in his seat. Logan started the car, and Virgil hid in his hoodie once more. “I mean… this whole thing is a mess. With Roman? God, poor Roman…”

“All the more reason to dismiss her,” Logan said as he turned the car around. He got a hot, searing flash of sun on his cheek, but he pulled the visor down and sheltered himself as he drove. “Besides. It’s clear that Patton is in love with Roman. Why should that be doubted?”

Virgil looked at him, and the stare almost felt physical as he said, “It’s not that simple.”

“Ah,” Logan sighed. “Sentimentality.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a foreign concept. We just had a _moment_.” Virgil’s words were playful, but his tone was still flat and stern. Logan wasn’t sure what to make of it. So he headed back to the mortuary, listening closely when Virgil said, “I mean… if I figured out that you just… _happened_ to have a kid somewhere? Out there? In the world? I don’t know… it’d be weird. Not bad, maybe, but… weird.”

Logan hummed and hit his turning signal. “Patton didn’t even know. He’s obviously shocked as well.”

“Do you really think she is?” Virgil asked, this time turning to look at Logan from under the safety of his hood. “His grandkid, I mean. She could be making it up.”

“She could.”

Virgil frowned. “She could be telling the truth, too.”

“She could.”

Virgil gave him a bewildered look, but Logan ignored it. They pulled into the driveway. They’d been gone for a little over an hour. Hopefully, that had given Roman a chance to calm down and think rationally. But, however, seeing that it was _Roman,_ there was hardly ever a chance for calm, rational thought. He was almost always nonsensical and fanciful.

He put the car in park… but Virgil didn’t get out. Logan sat with him, giving Virgil a long, considering look.

“Poor Patton,” he said after a while, his voice soft as he looked at the mortuary. “I mean… he _had _a kid. He _had _one. And he never got to meet her.”

Logan fidgeted in his seat. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Yes. It’s… a shame.”

Virgil pursed his lips, almost smiling when he said, “He would’ve been a _great_ dad.”

“Yes,” Logan said again, still a little numb to the nuances of the conversation. “He’s a natural-born caregiver.”

“But, like…” Virgil fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves, glaring at the dashboard as he said, “Patton himself told me that… he doesn’t like women. He just… wouldn’t have been happy with What’s-Her-Face.”

“Rachel.”

“_Whatever,” _Virgil hissed. “Patton wouldn’t have been happy with her. Roman knows that, right? He knows that, doesn’t he?”

“Whether or not Roman knows it isn’t the issue,” Logan said stiffly. “Patton was raised with a very strict, old-fashioned mindset. If he had slept with this woman and knowingly gotten her pregnant, he would have been responsible. He would have married her.”

Virgil gave him a sad, pinched look. “But he wouldn’t have been _happy_.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Logan said again. “He would have done it.”

“And just… what?” Virgil spread his hands as he grumbled and kicked his feet at the floormat. “He would have just. Been in an unhappy marriage? Never aging while… _Rachel_ or whatever grows old without him?”

“Yes. That’s what he would have done. Morally, that would be the right thing to do.”

Logan opened the door to the car, wincing and hissing when the sunlight hit his exposed hands and wrists. Without pause, he went for the front door with Virgil on his heels. They stepped inside, and all was appropriately quiet as the grave.

Logan locked the door, stepped into the little lobby, and saw Patton sitting at the front desk, red-eyed from crying and expression grieved. Roman was nowhere in sight. He looked up, saw them, and he stood up, almost like he would approach them to touch them or hold them.

“Logan—” he started, only to have Logan hold up a hand.

“It’s midday,” Logan interrupted lowly. “I’m tired. I _would _like to continue a discussion after I’ve gotten some rest.”

“Same,” Virgil said, his words chased by a yawn. He reached out to pat Patton’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Looking listless, Patton merely nodded sluggishly. “Okay. Sure. If… if you see Roman up there, will you… tell him…” his words trailed off. Logan raised an eyebrow, expecting more, but the words never came. Virgil, however, seemed to understand, and he nodded gently.

“Sure, Pat. I’m sure he already knows. He just needs some time.”

Patton nodded again, but he didn’t seem convinced. He simply went back behind the desk, sitting on his little stool and staring at their book of appointments like it was a new, terrible puzzle. If he slouched any harder, he would’ve been laying across the surface.

Logan didn’t mind it. He merely walked up the stairs. One at a time, each step felt heavier. The morning was catching up to him. He was exhausted. He shouldn’t have gone for a drive. Behind him, Virgil grabbed his hand and held tight, trailing close as they walked through the empty living room. They entered the bedroom. They didn’t speak as they fell onto the blankets. They closed their eyes, curled close in one another and hiding from the sunlight as sleep overtook them.

This time, Roman didn’t appear to interrupt their dreams.

+++++

1937 – North Dakota

_ Patton’s vision was swimming where he leaned against the bar. _

_ “Another o’er here!” He called, getting a whiskey slid across the bar toward him. Next to him, Rachel laughed, her head tipped back and voice loud as she leaned into his arm and watched him drink. He knocked the burning liquor back and she cheered. She _always_ cheered._

_ “Look at you go, farm boy!” She said, her brown eyes glittering as she took his next whiskey and drank it herself. He laughed at her whoop and holler, letting her lean into him as she breathed hot in his ear, “Bet I could drink you under the table.”_

_ “_Shoot_,” Patton drawled dizzily. He slapped the bar excitably, and the bottle of whiskey was sat in front of him. He hadn’t had a drinking contest since… since… Patton frowned. Since he was human. He shook that thought away and held up the bottle in front of Rachel’s hazy eyes. “You drink me down, little lady?” She beamed and Patton giggled. “You must crazier than Hell’s bells.” _

_ Rachel took the bottle, flicked off the cap, and while maintaining direct eye contact, tipped the bottle back and took a long swig. Patton swallowed thickly as many men around her “oohed’ and “aaahed.” Patton was impressed, but he didn’t want to whistle and howl at her. Not the way the other men did. In fact, Patton merely squirmed as the bottle was passed back to him._

_ “Your turn, farm boy,” she said, proud and drunk. Patton grinned widely, more than encouraged as she said, “_Impress me_.”_

+++++

Logan was startled awake by Virgil’s hands grasping at his shoulder. He was shaken wildly – Virgil had yet to get a firm grasp on his newfound strength – and nearly rocked out of the bed while Virgil was saying something under his breath. Sleep made things foggy. After a long night and a troubling morning, Logan had been looking forward to a good days’ rest… and this involved letting his brain succumb to the calming numbness of clear, incoherent thoughtlessness.

This lack of thought made it difficult to understand what Virgil was so desperately trying to convey. He was saying things. The blankets were tangled around Logan’s legs. Had he taken his socks off? He didn’t remember taking them off. Virgil had taken his shirt off again… did he hang it up on the hanger, or was it on the floor? Virgil was still talking. He was saying Logan’s name. Logan groaned and swatted at Virgil’s hands, trying to stop Virgil from shaking him again.

“Are you listening to me? Get up,” Virgil hissed, giving Logan another shove. This almost sent Logan over the edge of the bed, but he managed to keep his place on the mattress. Virgil finally sat back. “What if she’s told someone about you guys?”

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing as he let out a long, irritated breath through his nose. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep for this. “Who?”

“Charlotte!” Virgil said, as if his topic of conversation was completely obvious. “What if she told someone about the pictures?”

Still not bothering to open his tired eyes, Logan hummed. “What time is it?”

“What does that have to do with –” Virgil paused, glanced at the clock, and muttered, “Almost 4 in the afternoon.”

Now, Logan actually open his eyes just a fraction to glare at Virgil. “You _know _I’m not an afternoon person.”

Virgil had the audacity to roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah… but this is important. We need to talk about Charlotte.” He crawled a little closer to Logan on the bed. Logan gave him a long, sleepy look.

The purple dye in his hair was beginning to fade, revealing lavender hues that faded to a soft, pleasant brown. Logan liked Virgil’s natural hair color. But, as Virgil was a quietly rebellious young man, he’d announced that he would be re-dying it soon. But that was beside the point. Virgil was leaning over him wearing that ridiculous, oversized hoodie that he loved so much and the worn, black pajama pants that made Logan overheat when Virgil curled close to him while they slept. The curtain of his long, lavender bangs hung down as he gave Logan a stern, anxious look; unignorable and serious. Logan was officially awake.

“What if she told someone about the photo album?” He asked again, sounding so sure of himself, so _fearful_, that Logan almost entertained the idea. He didn’t, though. Not quite yet.

He was still skeptical of this ‘Charlotte’ woman. As was he skeptical about the photo album. It was too convenient. Though he himself was still unsure of Patton’s so-called insistence that it was all just a mistake and he _hadn’t _slept with Rachel, there was room for error. Virgil, it seemed, was still fraught with doubts.

“So,” Logan said breathily as he sat up. “This mornings’ events have finally caught up with you.”

Shifting a little, Virgil’s gaze slid down to the blankets as he grumbled, “Yeah, yeah… my hindsight is 20/20. I get it. But seriously,” his eyes flickered back up to Logan, watching carefully and gauging his reaction as he spoke. “This chick… if she really _is _Patton’s grandkid… she could be going around and telling _anyone_ about it.”

Logan hummed, mulling the idea, but didn’t respond. Virgil took this as an invitation to continue.

“If she tells someone… if she goes to like, a news reporter and shows them the picture, we could be in serious trouble. People always love a good ‘this person looks like this person’ story. But… same names? That would be even _more _crazy. Media would eat this shit up.”

Logan gave a slow nod. “Theoretically.”

Virgil fidgeted where he sat, still looking uneasy as he started to devise other possibilities. “If… if she’s really Patton’s granddaughter, that means… that means her mom is half-ghoul, right?” Logan agreed, and Virgil seemed to reach an epiphany. “That means she’s probably still alive… right?” He looked to Logan with wide, wild eyes. “What if… what if the _mom_ went around sharing info? We have _no _idea what she’s been telling people all these years!”

Smoothing a hand through his hair, Logan yawned. “Doubtful. Half-species hybrids are normally frail and unhealthy. I doubt she made it very far into her adulthood.” He looked to Virgil, reaching up to brush his thumb across Virgil’s cheek fondly. “That said, Charlotte said her mother passed away a decade ago. And, if her family wasn’t actively searching for Patton all this time, it doesn’t seem that it was a common topic of conversation for their supposed ‘family.’”

This seemed to soothe Virgil, and he sat back a bit. He took a deep breath, and Logan imitated the action, amazed at Virgil’s tendency to act calm until the weight of a situation was nearly ready to crush him. Perhaps it was a human reflex. An autonomous act of self-preservation. Maybe it was just to save face. Those two options could be the same thing.

After a moment, Logan laid back down, pulling the duvet up to his chest and folding his hands calmly. Virgil was still staring at the deep, blue fabric of the blanket, looking lost on his thoughts. Logan almost fell asleep, but there was still a thought lingering in his mind. The kind of thought that made his fingers twitch where he lay quiet and waiting.

“I have a question,” Logan said crisply, earning a semi-interested glance from Virgil. “You seem oddly fixated on the outcomes of Charlotte sharing our inhuman secrets.”

Virgil’s face screwed up, looking very much like someone had pulled at a tangle in his hair. Shrugging irritably, Virgil said, “Well, _yeah_. I mean… if she goes to an actual newspaper, people will come looking for interviews. If you get interviewed by a paper, that’s one thing… but they’ll want _pictures_. And pictures would make it hard to ‘disappear’ like you do.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Logan twiddled his thumbs calmly. “Virgil, you know I would never agree to such an interview.”

Another angry shrug, and Virgil leaned toward him a bit when he said, “_Yeah_, but that would just make them more curious! Photographers are _weird_, Logan. They’ll find you and Patton. Take pictures. And then you’ll be fucked.”

“Quaintly put,” Logan said stiffly. Virgil rolled his eyes and leaned away. Logan didn’t chase him… not quite yet. His question wasn’t answered yet. “But why are _you_ concerned?”

Virgil gave him a sharp look. “Because you –”

“Yes,” Logan nodded. “I know that Patton and I are subject to possible dangers… but you are _not_. So…” He gestured politely for an answer. “Why are _you_ worried?”

After a brief moment of sputtering, Virgil held up his hands in surrender. “Well… cuz… you’re my _guy!_” Logan raised an eyebrow. Virgil became more flustered. “You… you _know_… partner. Boyfriend. Whatever.”

“Ah,” Logan nodded calmly. “Because when we entered this romantic relationship, it was my deepest hope that we would become ‘whatever.’”

Without warning, Logan was shoved out of bed and onto the floor, followed by Virgil’s indignant, “Stop being a smartass!”

Groaning, Logan lifted himself off the floor and spat back, “Stop underestimating your strength!”

Without warning, Roman appeared in the room. He didn’t walk through the door, nor did he try to slip through the floorboards. He appeared sitting on Virgil’s dresser, his legs crossed and expression stiff and serious. His blowing shirtsleeves looked almost translucent in the low light, and when he sighed, he looked like a man heaving his last breath.

“Can we talk?” He asked, a little listless. Gesturing between himself and Logan, he said, “Man to man,” then he gestured to Virgil, “To man?”

Logan cast a wary glance at Virgil; this was no doubt going to be an emotionally charged conversation. He wasn’t sure if he was the best person to deal with something like that. But Virgil was still the closest thing to a human they had to offer. He knew more about softer emotions, even if they were young and limited. So Logan stood from the floor, smoothed his shirt, and sat on the bed quietly.

With a small wave of his hand, he motioned for Roman to proceed.

Instead of pacing, Roman flickered (something that tended to happen when he was exceptionally stressed or distracted) around the room. He would be in the far-right corner, then he was next to the bed, wringing his hands, and then he was gone again, to the left side of the room and shuffling his foot.

“I shouldn’t feel cheated,” he said, mostly to himself. Virgil and Logan stared at him, and Roman said again, “I shouldn’t feel _cheated _by this. Should I?”

Logan opened his mouth to say something, rethought it, and shut his mouth. He looked to Virgil for help, but no assistance was offered. He was just watching. Waiting for Roman to talk himself out, it would seem. An interesting choice. Logan was intrigued. So he stayed quiet, watching Roman slip between the corporeal plane as he struggled with himself.

“Patton and I… in the 30’s, we weren’t actually… not _really_… together. Not yet,” He licked his lips, looking around the room wildly as he pushed a hand through his waving, curling hair. “He was right. He was struggling with himself… didn’t want to… to acknowledge what he felt. Wasn’t he?” He looked to Virgil and Logan desperately. “Or is he just humoring me?”

Virgil cocked his head to the side curiously. “You guys said you were together for like… almost a hundred years.”

“Yes. Yes, _together_ as in… we knew each other. We had nothing _but _each other.” Roman stopped, his expression pained as he said, “At least… I _thought_ we only had each other. But now, this… why do I feel slighted? Why am I so upset by this?”

Logan blinked. “Because it was a bombshell, Roman. None of us were prepared for it.”

Roman looked at him desperately, a hand to his un-beating heart as he said, “It’s more than _surprise_, Logan. It’s…”

“You’re hurt,” Virgil said softly. “You think Patton lied to you. Like he hid something from you.”

Turning away, Roman flickered away… and came back with a sigh. “I thought… I thought I was his first. His first love, his first lover…”

Virgil made a face and shrugged. “What does it matter if you were his first? I mean… first, tenth, one hundredth person… sleeping with something doesn’t _automatically _mean they mean the world to you.” Roman gave him a baffled look and Virgil shrugged. “I mean. Not anymore. Sex is just sex, Roman. This Rachel person or whatever… I mean, she was just a friend. Patton didn’t love her.

“But he loves you. Jesus Christ, he loves you so much it’s borderline _stupid_.” Virgil’s words were lighthearted, but his expression still lingered on pity as he said, “He _loves_ you. Sleeping with you _meant _something. He doesn’t even _remember_ Rachel. Hell, for all we know, Charlotte could’ve made the whole thing up.”

Logan nodded calmly. “Precisely. Without solid evidence, there is nothing saying that Charlotte is truly Patton’s granddaughter.”

Worrying his hands, Roman’s stare was fixed to the wall when he said, “I know. I _know _that he loves me. And I know that… that making love to him _means_ something. And I…” he shook his head, looking more than a little angry as he said, “I just don’t know why I’m so _upset_ about this.”

Logan frowned. “Of course you do. It’s _your _emotion, Roman. Not knowing is—”

“It’s fine,” Virgil said, placing a hand on Logan’s thigh. Logan looked at him for an explanation, and Virgil merely looked at Roman as he said, “Sometimes we just need to process. This was a lot of info. Charlotte, Rachel… we don’t even know if it’s real.” He shrugged. “So you’re upset. Patton ran out and made friends you don’t know about. You feel like he was keeping a secret.”

Roman looked at him sadly. “And it’s pathetic, isn’t it? It’s silly. I shouldn’t be hurt. I know Patton. I know my angel.”

Virgil shrugged again. “You can feel however the fuck you want to feel, Roman. Just… you know that Patton’s upset, too, right? You guys were happy. You had it _good_. Emily and Annaliese are gone. You were literally living happily ever after. And now Charlotte barged in, ruining shit—”

Roman faded away, leaving a faint tail of dust as he reappeared across the room with a pensive expression. “Patton was… he seemed happy. Somewhere, deep down, he looked… _happy_.”

Logan shifted uncomfortably. He had gone from being an active participant of the conversation to merely observing it. But with Virgil taking the lead, he trusted it to go in the right direct. Sitting back, he watched as Virgil’s steel-gray eyes landed on Roman and held, stern and serious.

“Patton loves new people, Roman. He likes making friends and Charlotte… maybe he just thought she could be a new friend.” He frowned when he said this, clearly displeased by the reasoning, but he finished with, “You know how he latched onto me, when I first showed up.”

“I guess…” Roman crossed his arms over his chest. “I guess that’s true.”

“Patton also came from a close family,” Logan said regretfully. “When Emily took him and changed him, he could no longer return to them.”

Virgil gave him a sidelong glance as he said, “He just wants to feel like a part of a family again.”

This only soured Roman’s mood as he went a little hazy. “And I… can’t _give him_ a family. I’m… I will never be able to give him what Rachel could have. She was… a living, breathing person, and I…. I was just the ghost in the walls. How can I measure up to a living person? How can I measure up to a _woman _that could give him _children_ and a _family_?”

Virgil looked nonplussed as he said, “Roman, just because he _wanted _a family doesn’t mean he _needed _it. The way I see it, he was more than happy with you. He loves you. He wants you.” There was a knowing, distinct pause before Virgil said, “He _needs _you. It’s pretty fucking obvious.”

Roman opened his mouth to disagree, and Logan interrupted with a quick, “As we said, there’s no guarantee that Charlotte really _is _his granddaughter. Without definitive proof, we should continue as we always have.”

“And,” Virgil said softly, “If it’s true, we’ll deal with it when we get there.”

Roman’s mouth snapped shut… and he disappeared. Virgil and Logan watched the space he once occupied, waiting for him to reappear… but he didn’t. Downstairs, they heard a chair scrape against the floorboards. They heard Roman’s voice, soft and unsure. Then they heard Patton’s, desperate and apologetic. Then all was quiet.

Virgil sighed and laid back on the bed. “What if she’s telling the truth?”

“What if she’s lying?” Logan said, reaching out to push a hand through Virgil’s hair. Virgil sighed at the touch, turning his steely eyes on Logan. They held there, frightened and anxious, until Logan looked away. “She could just be trying to get a rise out of us. Maybe she’s a wandering alchemist looking for something to occupy her time. Maybe she’s a Witch or Wicca trying to push us out of wanted territory. Maybe she’s none of those things.”

Virgil’s hand reached out to touch him. Just his lower back, just his fingertips pressing into fabric as the hand slid down, slow and tired. “She’s not going to let this go.”

“I know.”

One of Virgil’s fingers hooked on Logan’s beltloop. He tugged, and Logan complied. He laid back and let Virgil crawl close, a hand atop his chest as he said, “She wants something from Patton.”

“That much was clear, despite her denials.”

“And her story about finding us? Sketchy.” Logan hummed, and Virgil huffed unhappily. “So what do we do?”

“Like we said,” Logan said, an arm pulled close around Virgil’s shoulders. “We’ll wait. And let her come to us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ominous. I'm on tumblr @ misplaced-my-notes  
See you next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Patton had grown used to planning funerals; it had, after many years, become a comfortably routine profession. The flowers, the catering, and religious services were all arranged by him. It was an interesting job with a morbid, dark purpose. Like a candy with a bitter filling.

He sat behind a large, oak desk that sat off to the side of the main entrance of the house and mortuary. People looked at him — some smiled, most grimaced — and asked for explanations on their services. And Patton provided them. He was a people-pleaser. He’d been raised to be polite and friendly and he expected to be treated politely in return. Maybe he was naive. Maybe he just wanted to see the best in people.

But that way of thinking had gotten him trapped in a basement, chained to a table, and changed into a monster against his will.

This didn’t mean Patton trusted any less nowadays. No, given time, Patton has learned to trust again. To have faith in people again. To reach out and be willing to be touched again. That bond of trust had been a thin wire with Logan, taut with anxiety in the beginning but growing to be a study chord. Logan told him he would be caught, and Patton doubted... but the trust didn’t waver. He was protected. So he stayed with him, holding that rope of trust for all it was worth.

But with Roman, it wasn’t a trapeze rope strung between them. It was more of a silk scarf. There was no shake or anxiety in him. He looked at Patton and had blind, beautiful faith. He was soft and kind, taking that trust and tying their hands together, gentle where Roman held his wrists and told him it was alright to fall. And Patton fell. Fell into Roman’s waiting arms and for the first time in a long time, he was happy.

He felt safe.

And then the business with Annaliese happened. It had been a tense month, fraught with uncertainty and the treat of death... but they survived. They still had each other. Patton still had Roman, Roman still had him. They were alive (in a manner of speaking) and intent on spending their infinite time together doing whatever they pleased.

And now... Charlotte. Oh, Charlotte.

Patton wanted to be happy to see meet her. He wanted to be ecstatic that he had some blood-family left. To know that he’d somehow continued his family legacy... but he wasn’t. In all honesty, he was terrified of what her existence implied.

Years and years ago, he’d found comfort in the form of a bottle and a bar. Rachel had simply been one of the patrons. He made conversation, as one does. They made fast drinking friends, as some do.

But it has capped there. There was no climax to their friendship, literal or otherwise. They met almost every day, drank, complained out their lives, and went on their respective ways.

Patton would come home drunk every afternoon. Roman would be upset every time.

_ “That can’t be good for you, angel,” _he would say, all sad eyes and flickering form. _“It can’t be good for you.”_

It wasn’t. But that didn’t make Patton stop.

He had felt things for Roman. Feeling things for a man was a new experience for him. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

After they’d met in the 1890’s, he’d learned to live with Roman’s endless endearments. Angel, beloved, darling... they were all warm and comforting. Kind in the face of a very harsh reality. When Logan had threatened to exorcise Roman, it had been a jolt of fear. A desperate sort of horror that Patton assumed stemmed from some sort of co-dependence. They were friends. As close as two men could be. But in the 1930’s, their relationship reached a boiling point. All things do.

And Patton ran from it. He didn’t want to say he loved Roman. He needed him, yes. Roman kept him sane, of course. But love? No. No, that was too much. Too far.

So he drank, Rachel spoke to him, they became friends... and now: Charlotte.

Her existence upset the progress of things. The linear timetable that marked all of their lives and how their relationship developed was tipped on its side. Charlotte strode in, wiped the board clean and said: “think again.”

But Patton didn’t _want_ to think again.

He didn’t want to think that he lost his virginity in a night of drunken, forgettable sex. He didn’t want to think he’d doomed a poor innocent woman to bear a child all alone. He didn’t want to face it... but if it was true, then he couldn’t fight it.

So there he sat at his big oak desk, staring at their book of appointments with unseeing eyes. Logan and Virgil had returned from their drive a few minutes ago. They’d gone upstairs to bed. It left Patton with his thoughts.

He’d rather be yelled at, in all honesty. If Logan yelled at him, his thoughts wouldn’t spiral. But he was alone, twiddling his thumbs and wondering if Roman would ever want to see him again.

If Charlotte was telling the truth, then Roman had every reason to leave and haunt some other house for the rest of his afterlife. If Charlotte really was Patton’s granddaughter, it meant his “first time” hadn’t really been his first time. It meant he’d been so desperate to avoid confronting his feelings for Roman that he set the steel trap of a woman’s thighs and then snapped himself shut in them. It meant that he was so afraid of loving Roman... that he’d given himself away in attempt to make the feelings disappear.

Letting out a long, shuddering breath, Patton raked his hands through his hair. He was tired. All of this thought and anxiety... it made him want a drink. Just to take the edge off. But he wouldn’t. He made a promise to Roman. All those years ago... when Patton came home blind drunk, he... Patton shook his head and sighed.

“Patton.”

He bolted upright, seeing Roman standing on the other side of the desk. Roman looked at him, his eyes — so tired, so longing — catching his and holding. His hands were at his sides, loose and calm. He made no move to touch Patton... an odd occurrence for the two of them. Patton didn’t move to change it, but he did lick his lips nervously.

“Roman,” he started, his voice coming out torn and rasping. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Roman, I—“

“Tell me you didn’t know,” Roman said, more of a plea than a request. His eyes searched Patton’s face for any sign of deceit... but there was none to be seen. Patton swallowed thickly, and Roman stayed on the other side of the desk as he breathed, “Please tell me you didn’t know about...”

“I didn’t,” Patton promised, his hands shaking where he braced them against the desk. “I swear I didn’t. If I even did it, which I... honestly I don’t—“

“And... and it was just once?” Roman asked, his voice still calm despite the tortured look on his face. “Did... did you love her?”

“No.”

“Honestly?”

Patton closed his eyes and let out a trembling exhale. “Honest to god, Roman, I didn’t love her. If anything... she made me nervous. That’s... that’s honestly all I remember of her. She goaded me into drinking more, made me laugh, and when I didn’t drink, she made me nervous.” Romans jaw worked furiously, but he didn’t speak. Patton said once more, “I didn’t love her.”

Roman was quiet for a minute, mulling this information. He didn’t move. Patton didn’t breathe. When he looked up, Patton met him with honest eyes. He was unprepared for the anger that waited in Roman’s. “She made you drink _more_?”

Patton looked away, ashamed. “In all honesty, sugarcane... back then, it didn’t take much.”

“Oh,” Roman cooed, his dramatic tone lost beneath the crack in his voice. “Oh, that’s not fair. Using that name against me. Be still my heart.”

Patton tried to smile, but his lips were wobbling. He furiously brushed tears from his eyes as he blubbered, “It’s always one thing or another with me. Emily, Annalise, Charlotte... when will you get sick of me, Roman?”

“Oh, angel. Darling. Beloved,” Roman disappeared from sight, only to reappear behind the desk, gathering Patton up in his arms and holding him tight. “I will never tire of you. You are an angel among men.”

Patton burrowed against Roman’s chest. He wished he could stay right there. Trap himself in Roman’s essence and disappear with him when he faded away. He wanted to crawl into Roman’s chest and hide away there, only coming out to whisper how much he loved him whenever Roman felt sad. He wanted to erase the past twelve hours and replace them with soft, slow movements under the sheets. To go back in time and tell himself not to open the door for Charlotte. To make it all go away.

“I’m sorry,” Patton breathed against the cold, cold skin of Roman’s neck. “I’m sorry this... I didn’t... I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Roman said softly. “I believe we were both blindsided, my heart.”

Patton closed his eyes tight, his hands grasping the back of Roman’s loose shirt desperately. “I love you, Roman,” he said, pouring all of himself into the words. “I love you so, so much... I wouldn’t want anyone else. Never have, sugarcane. Never will. I just... I need you to know—“

“I know,” Roman said again, softer this time. Patton’s voice caught, and he kissed Roman’s neck for good measure. In response, Romans grip on him turned to a vice. “I know.”

+++++

1937 – North Dakota

_ Patton stumbled a bit as he pushed open the door to the mortuary. They were on a small plateau where the grass dipped and swayed. Late-afternoon sunlight rippled over the tall grasses, and the vision of it twisted and swayed as Patton glanced back at the idyllic scene. It was a nice place; Patton didn’t like nice places. It reminded him of the farm, back home. After a slight hiccup, Patton tripped back and closed the door._

_ When he turned, he saw Roman’s hazy outline. He was sitting on the stairs, watching him._

_ “So,” Roman said as he leaned back and slapped his hands on his knees. “You were gone for a while.” Patton shrugged and swiveled on his foot to head into the kitchen. He was hungry. Roman appeared next to the table, frowning at Patton. “You want to know something, darling?”_

_ Patton hit the icebox sideways before he managed to pry it open. “No.”_

_ “I used to love your scent,” Roman said anyway, his hands weaving a dramatic silhouette in the air. “You smelled like… fresh hay. Soap. Something else…”_

_ He was doing it again… all of the endless praise, the heartfelt words… it made Patton nervous. It made him _want _things that ought not be wanted. Being called ‘beloved’ and ‘angel’ was surely some kind of city-boy joke. But it made Patton _yearn _for things. Patton frowned and shut the icebox. “We’re out of bread.”_

_ “Fresh bread!” Roman said with a clap of his hands. “That’s one of the smells. Fresh bread. Flour. You smelled divine, angel. I’m sure that’s what heaven smells like.”_

_ Patton shuffled away and reached for the cabinet doors. “Do we have any crackers?”_

_ “Now you simply smell like whiskey when you come home,” Roman said, his voice sharp and unhappy. Patton didn’t reply to that, but Roman wasn’t keen on letting the conversation drop. “Patton.”_

_ Patton frowned and hung on the door a bit. “What?”_

_ “Why won’t you look at me, angel?”_

_ “Because you’re…” Patton stopped, giggled a bit, leaning forward to press his head to the wooden cabinet door, and said, “You’re see-through.”_

_ There was a distinct pause as Roman took in a deep, thoughtful breath. One that he didn’t need. He was dead, after all. The thought made Patton laugh a little harder. When Roman spoke, he was soft. Careful. Like the words wouldn’t hit quite right if he didn’t say them with the proper tone of voice._

_ “Patton, I don’t know what started this all… but it’s enough. You’ve had enough.”_

_ Patton made a face. “I’m fine.”_

_ “You won’t _look at me_, darling.”_

_ “Why do I have to?” Patton slurred, his heart heavy and stomach upset. He fumbled in the cupboard, trying to reach something that would take good and settle his stomach. He didn’t find anything. He’d forgotten to go shopping again. Raw meat normally tasted the best to him these days… but that made him feel _worse_. Less human. Patton growled and slammed the door shut. “There’s nothing to eat!”_

_ “Patton,” Roman said again, his voice so gentle it almost hurt. “Please. Please, my love, just let me—”_

_ “Don’t,” Patton huffed as he wobbled and stumbled out of the kitchen. “Don’t call me that. All those names… just. Stop.”_

_ “I can,” said Roman, a little quieter as his body flickered oddly in the light. “I can stop. Would that make you happy? Would you stop drinking if I… if I stopped using those names?”_

_ “No.” Patton took off his glasses and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “No, I wouldn’t.”_

_ “But you can’t—” Roman said, his voice catching as he stopped, flickered in an out of existence, and came to stand in the doorway, arms crossed and face pinched. “You can’t just keep drinking. You can’t keep on like this. You know I’m right.”_

_ Patton huffed and glanced at his watch. The hands on the clockface wouldn’t stand still and the numbers swam in his vision. He reached up to adjust his glasses… only to remember he wasn’t wearing them. He put them back on, and still couldn’t read the time. He sighed._

_ “Patton, darling, _please._” Roman stepped forward, hands outstretched as if to help him, to save him from whatever was tormenting him. But he couldn’t. No one could. Patton was a monster, and no one could change that, not with all the kind words in the world. “Please. Tell me what it would take. What would it take for you to just… set aside the bottle and… and talk to me?”_

_ Patton pursed his lips, feigning deep thought, before he sighed, “A gun. Get me a gun.”_

_ Roman’s hands dropped and his eyes went wide. “A gun.”_

_ “Get me a gun,” Patton drunkenly repeated with an air of finality. “And we’ll talk.”_

+++++

Logan was comfortably warm where he lay under the blankets. He’d never found a need for them before Virgil stepped into his life, but there he was, sleeping under the blankets like a human. Virgil was curled against him, all long-limbs that were stiff as a statue as he slept. He often slept longer, which left Logan to sit and marvel at the feeling of lying in bed with someone.

More often than not, Logan would pass a hand through Virgil’s hair, feeling the purple-dyed streaks sift through lavender, violet, and then fade to brown. It was comforting… but not enough. He was trapped in the thoughts of the prior day.

What did Charlotte know and _how _did she know it? If she had indeed come looking for them, how had she found them? It seemed unlikely that she simply wriggled out of the woodwork for no reason other than looking for them specifically. No, she had some sort of motivation behind it. Logan was frustrated to know what he _didn’t _know.

So he laid in bed quietly stewing until Virgil took a breath, stirred, and finally sat up. His hair was mussed and sticking in several directions. Logan’s handiwork, though he’d never admit it. When he looked to Logan, his eyes were still bleary with sleep.

“Hey.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow. “Good evening. How do you feel?”

Virgil scratched a hand through his hair before he slid out of bed. “Fine, I guess. Still kinda anxious about the whole… Charlotte thing but… whatever.”

Logan hummed as he stood up and made the bed. Virgil went to brush his hair – as he always did, considering his hair was mussed every morning – and Logan fluffed the pillows before stepping out into the living room.

Patton and Roman were waiting for him, sitting on the sofa as close as two people could possibly be, heads bowed low together and hands clasped tight as they whispered. Logan could hear them murmuring affirmations of love, but he could also hear the desperation in their voices. The weren’t smiling with euphoric, post-coital glows, they were stern. Serious. Urgent to tell the other that they were loved, just in case they didn’t know it. Logan ignored this and sat down in his armchair.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he nodded to Roman. “I assume Charlotte hasn’t returned?”

Patton shook his head, and Logan was intrigued to see relief flood his features. “No. No, she didn’t.” He blinked, and his head raised nervously as he held Roan’s hand tight. “Do… do you think she will?”

Logan shrugged and took the paper from the coffee table, snapping it open with a flourish while Roman stared at him. “She might. She said we’d be seeing more of her.”

“Diabolical little woman,” Roman said melodramatically. He threw an arm around Patton’s shoulders and drew him in close. “No worries, love. I’ll keep you safe.”

“From my own granddaughter?” Patton asked, his voice more breathless than upset. “She said she didn’t want anything from us… or me, I… I’m not sure what you have to protect me from.”

Frowning a little harder, Logan read the article on the front page of the paper; the discover of Amanda Cole’s body had sparked a fast-paced investigation to nowhere. There were no suspects are the moment. There was also a body found in the lumberyard down on the edge of down. Logan narrowed his eyes; that’s where he’d fought Annaliese. Where she had killed Virgil. He hadn’t left much of her body behind… he was mostly surprised they pieced enough together to make another murder case.

At the very least, the police assumed there was some sort of violent, depraved animal roaming the woods. At the very most, they were afraid a serial killer was on the loose. Folding the paper, Logan set it aside as Virgil wandered into the room and perched on the arm of his chair, looking at Patton.

“So, Pat,” Virgil started gently, like a parent approaching their child after they’d eaten desert before dinner. “Do you want to talk about it?”

‘It’ being Charlotte, or ‘it’ being the night Patton apparently spent with Rachel? Logan wasn’t sure. He merely watched the way Patton squirmed in his seat and pressed into Roman for comfort. By the way Roman held him, it seemed their uncertainty with each other had been assuaged… Logan could only guess his conversation with Roman earlier had been the cause of the relief. Though he strongly doubted it. Roman was too proud and bullheaded to take advice… he’d probably given in to his desire for intimacy and crawled back to Patton. Probably.

Crossing his legs in a slow, anxious motion, Patton sighed. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d say even if I _did _want to talk about it.” He looked up, meeting Logan’s eye as he said, “That year was… dark for me. I don’t remember a lot of things. What I do remember was… was promising Roman that I’d stop drinking. I mean, I remember Rachel. I remember becoming friends with her. I remember drinking with her. But… but that was it.

“I don’t know what else there was to it. To _us_ I suppose.” He paused, glancing at Roman nervously before he said, “Really, the whole… whole thing was me just fighting myself. I didn’t want to admit I was in love with another man, I…” he blinked hard and Roman rubbed his shoulder soothingly. Patton gave him a shaky smile before saying, “Like I said, it was a dark time. I don’t remember a _lot _of things. There are whole weeks that I can’t piece together.” He frowned and sighed again. “If I did sleep with Rachel, I certainly don’t remember it.”

Logan huffed and scratched his brow tiredly. “Why _do _humans like alcohol?”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Champagne is tingly.”

“Cocktails are sweet,” Virgil supplied flatly.

“It made me feel human again,” Patton said softly.

The room went quiet.

It was clear that it _made _him feel human… but no longer. Logan knew that. Patton had asked for Logan to remove all alcohol from the house ever since that summer of ’37. Welcome gifts in their new homes, signs of goodwill from other businesses… almost each contained a bottle of wine. Patton would take them. Thank them. And then hand the basket or gift to Roman for disposal. Yes, Patton had taken to drinking for nearly a year. Yes, it would have destroyed his body had he still been human. And yes, Patton had been nearly unbearable throughout that year.

But Patton had changed late in 1937. Something significant had happened between March and December of that year… and more than just Patton and Roman officially engaging in a romantic relationship. After the incident in August and Patton’s heightened hysterics as time went on… there was more. Something like a last-minute realization. Logan wasn’t sure what it had been. But whatever it was, Patton had changed his mind.

He stopped drinking. And even without it’s ‘making him feel human,’ he was the most glimmering sign of _humanity_ in the mortuary. Perhaps it was Roman’s company. Perhaps it was Virgil’s friendship. Either way, Patton had stopped drinking and he was better for it. However, the time _with _alcohol clouded his memory and made it impossible to confirm or deny Charlotte’s claims without further information.

Before Logan could sit forward and suggested a plan of action, Virgil jumped and dug into his pocket to get his phone. After a few taps, Virgil made an odd noise, drawing the full attention of the others in the room. He looked confused, like the screen was warping under his hands. When he looked up, he met Logan halfway and said, “It’s... Remy.”

Logan arched an eyebrow. Of course it was. There only other people he really talked to were already in the room. “I assumed.”

“Yeah, haha, you’re a fucking genius,” Virgil leaned over, thrusting the phone into Logan’s hands. He wasn’t given a minute to read the text before Virgil said, “He says it’s his uncle. He wants to... see you? Urgently?” He pauses to frown. “I don’t think he’s ever been this... proper. With his grammar.”

Logan, using his limited knowledge of technology, knew how to ‘scroll’ through the messages. So he went up, reading messages that resembled hieroglyphs going back and back... the most recent message used proper grammar. It had punctuation. It had many — if not too many — exclamation points.

And it requested Logan’s presence at Emile Picani’s herbal (alchemical) shop.

If anything, it looked like someone else had written the text. Someone who didn’t know about Logan and Emile’s past. They had mutually agreed to stay out of one another’s business. It had been decided the moment Logan and Company and moved to town. Emile had visited with a smile, a warm handshake, and a promise that if Logan threatened him or his nephew, Logan might just find himself poisoned and in unimaginable agony.

It was refreshing to meet a straightforward alchemist. So many of them were secretive, maddening, or simply inept. Emile was none of those things. He was sharp as a tack with plenty of human compassion. Which begged the question: what was important enough that Emile had gone against their “live and let live” agreement?

Handing the phone back to Virgil, Logan said, “Call him. I’d like to verify that this message was, in fact, sent from Remy.”

Virgil made a face, like he was confused, before he tapped he screen and held the phone to his ear. Remy took several rings to answer.

“Virge! Babe! How’s my favorite bitch?”

Though Logan grimaced, Virgil cracked a smile. “Fine. Look, Rem... what was up with that text?”

There wasn’t any pause as Remy sighed into the receiver. “Ugh, yeah. So. Like... my uncle wrote that? Way too many exclamations. Doesn’t know how to chill, ya know?” Virgil opened his mouth to say something, but Remy cut him off. “So! Are you, like, on your way? ‘cause he’s being extra weird. Setting up sigils. He never sets up sigils. Except on like... blood moons.”

Virgil frowned. “Remy.”

“Right. Yeah. So, you seriously need to come over. He’s like... freaking out.”

Logan touched Virgil’s elbow. “Ask him what kind of sigils he’s placing.”

Over the phone, Remy laughed. “I can hear you, Four-Eyes! And it’s... some kind of protection? Dunno. Spreads wide, though. Took up half the fucking kitchen floor to draw it.”

Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “Yikes... I think.”

“Big yikes, baby. Someone’s got Emile all freaked out.” There was rustling before Remy’s voice returned. “Are you going? Because I’m stuck at the club and he won’t chill.”

Logan was already reaching for his coat while Virgil grabbed the car keys from the table. “We’ll be there in like... five minutes.”

At the kitchen table, Patton jolted anxiously. “W-wait! You can’t just leave me here!”

While Virgil went downstairs, Logan lingered at the top, giving Patton an empathetic look. “There’s a moon out tonight, Patton. We shouldn’t risk it.”

“We did before,” Patton said shakily. “When we went to help Virgil at his dorm.”

“Angel, angel... let them go,” Roman said softly, his arms looping around Patton’s shoulders. His nose was buried in Patton’s thick brown hair as he murmured, “I’ll stay with you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“But,” Patton still looked scared as he leaned into Roman’s arms. “But... what if she comes back? What if—“

“Roman is here,” Logan said with a stiff wave at Roman. The wraith in question beamed and kissed Patton’s neck until he lost composure and giggled. Logan rolled his eyes and descended the stairs saying, “If she comes knocking, I’m sure Roman could possess her and send her away.”

“Better yet!” Virgil called from the bottom of the stairs. “Just lock the door and don’t open it while we’re gone.”

Logan smiled and put a hand on the small of Virgil’s back, walking him to the door. “An even better idea.”

“Well,” Virgil grinned as he sauntered to the car. “It’s not like I keep you around for your brains.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow and unlocked the car door. “Are you calling me stupid?”

Virgil leaned his arms on top of the car. “Nah. You’re just lucky you’re pretty.”

Rolling his eyes, Logan climbed into the car and said, “Just get in the car, please.”

“And you’re a chauffeur!” Virgil said with a gesture to the car as he buckled his seatbelt. “You’re more and more useful to have around. Maybe I’ll keep you.”

Logan snorted at that and turned onto the main road. Above them, the moon hung drunk and sleepy in an early-winter sky. The forecast called for sleet... but there wasn’t a single cloud in sight. Even so, there was a biting chill in the air. One that made even Logan wish for the warmth of summer.

+++++

The smell of cloves was nearly unbearable as Logan and Virgil stepped out of the car and onto the pavement outside Emile Picani’s shop. Virgil, with his newly heightened senses, gagged a little at the scent. Logan couldn’t blame him; it was _made _to keep nether-predators away, after all.

“J_esus_, what the—”

“Cloves,” Logan cut him off with a wave to the bundles of herbs along the windowsill. “And cinnamon. For protection. Remy carries a similar concoction.”

Virgil grimaced and pulled the collar of his hoodie up over his nose. His voice was muffled by the fabric when he grumbled, “So that’s why he smells like pumpkin spice.”

Logan hummed. The windows were tinted and dark. The sign on the door said Closed. He couldn’t see any lights to speak of. Even so, Remy said they were expected. So he turned the doorknob – not even locked, so they _were _expected – and stepped inside.

He squinted at the bright overhead lights that greeted him; it seemed there was a charm on the shop windows to keep passersby from monitoring inside activities. Which was a good thing, considering how volatile some alchemists could be.

The interior of the shop was filled with all manners of nether-world originals from Ouija boards on the walls to herbs that would stop of a Golem in its tracks. There were odd murals hung over the front desk and multiple plants that should _not _be able to grow in such a northern state. But Emile was an alchemist… the rules of nature were warped around him, and he could do whatever he wanted.

“Woah,” Virgil marveled at a small potted plant. It shivered when he drew near, and he reached out to touch a leaf. It quivered under his touch, then went still. Virgil stepped away from it. “Can’t believe I’ve never been in here.”

Logan raised an eyebrow and gave a bundle of sage a long look. That might be enough to keep Roman at bay for at least a week. Patton would be upset though. He turned away from it. “Never? I assumed you spent a lot of time with Remy.”

Virgil shrugged, his eyes still on that trembling plant that sat on the desk. He drew close again, and the pot nearly shuddered off the surface. He held it steady at the base, poking at the leaves that suddenly went stiff and still. “Well. Yeah. I do. Or, I did. In school. Just… not in the shop.”

“I see.” Logan gave him a curious look. “You really had no idea that Remy was Wicca. Or Emile was an alchemist.”

Virgil gave him an exasperated look. “Of course I didn’t know? Who sits there and goes ‘huh, I wonder if my best buddy is a fucking witch?’”

“Wicca!” A new voice chirped from the back room behind the desk. Logan turned to see Emile fluttering through the doorway with all of his familiar, excitable glory. His glasses were still thick and the prescription was still strong. He still wore sweater vests and slacks. He still looked at Logan like he was a viper poised to strike. The only difference, this time, was the fact that he scuttled over to Virgil and swiped the plant from his hands. “Careful, don’t…! Don’t… touch this one. It needs another week.”

Virgil stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be!” Emile pat the side of the pot and the leaves resumed trembling. When he placed it on a high shelf, far out of reach, the trembling subsided. “Mandrakes are just tricky. Takes a month for them to grow just right… and if they’re pulled too early, the roots go bad.”

“Mandrake,” Virgil repeated, a smile on his lips. “Like Harry Potter.”

Logan wrinkled his nose; _another_ contemporary reference he didn’t understand.

Emile’s smile was still bright as he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Oh, those books were… something. Wrong, of course, but… something.” Finally, he looked at Logan, his hands clasped anxiously as he smiled his fake, businessman smile. “Mr. Stein.”

Logan nodded politely. “Mr. Picani.”

As if swept up in a tide, Emile picked up a bundle of herbs and started distributing them around the shop. They made Virgil flinch and reel back a bit, but Logan knew the herbs were for him. Emile just didn’t want Logan wandering the shop without some sort of failproof that kept him in check.

It wasn’t that Logan had ever threatened Mr. Emile Picani, or that he was a particularly wily vampire… but Emile had experience in the area. He had, after all, been dealing with Dmitri for many years. Dmitri the con, Dmitri the cryptic… Logan hardly knew him, but he knew enough to be wary. It was no wonder Emile was skeptical.

“I’ve heard something,” Emile said brightly as he went to each corner of the shop, depositing herbs and straightening books. After two corners had been passed, Virgil was lightheaded needed to sit down on the floor. Logan helped him down, patting his shoulder comfortingly as Virgil hid his nose in his hoodie. Emile spoke again, “From a friend a few towns away.”

“Oh?” Logan asked, trying to seem polite and personable as Virgil huffed unhappily.

“They said a young lady came to their store. She was asking--” Emile rounded the shelves and saw Virgil on the floor. “Oh. Oh, no! Oh, Virgil I’m sorry I completely forgot you—"

“It’s cool,” Virgil said into his hoodie. “Just… really smelly. No offense.”

Emile chuckled a bit. “It’s supposed to be, sport. I just… forgot that you…” he looked up at Logan, swallowed his words, and scurried away behind the desk and into the backroom once more. Logan didn’t follow him. The stench of his herbs was nearly enough to knock Logan off his feet. He could only hold his breath for so long. When Emile reappeared, he had a jar of coffee beans. He handed them to Virgil and said, “Here. Smell these.”

Virgil hesitantly poked his head out of his hoodie, sniffed, and curled his hands around the jar as he inhaled deep. “Aw, man… I forgot how much I _love _the smell of coffee.”

While Emile smiled, it was still tight and uncomfortable. He stood upright, met Logan’s eye, and for the first time since Logan had moved to town five year prior, Emile stood in front of him without a single herb keeping them apart. “A young lady came to my friend and asked for a scrying.”

“Is that surprising?” Logan asked, his stomach already clenched with prepared-dread. “I’m sure people come to witches and alchemists for readings every day.”

Emile frowned, his eyes wandering away as he fidgeted with his hands. “Tarot cards, sure. Palm readings, maybe. Past-life regression is even less common. Scrying?” Emile took a deep, shuddery breath and stepped away with his hands wringing. He looked stressed, like the young woman had come to _him _for the scrying. When he turned back around, his eyes were sharp and thoughtfully. “We live quietly here. Alchemists and witches… Wicca are broadly accepted, but… scrying? That’s not usually public information.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “She knew what she was asking for.”

“She knew _who _she was asking for,” Emile pressed as he went behind his desk and pulled out a piece of paper. There, photocopied on the paper, was the photo that Charlotte had brought to the mortuary earlier that day. It was Patton and Rachel standing in front of that old pub. Calm, collected, and stern. Logan grit his teeth as he put a hand on the photograph. It was smooth to the touch. Laminated paper. Part of him expected it to burn. It didn’t. Emile sighed. “She was looking for your colleague, Mr. Jenkins.”

Logan opened his mouth to ask for more information – there was little doubt it was Charlotte, but he needed to be absolutely sure – Emile held up a hand to stop him.

“Mr. Stein, I need to be perfectly frank.”

Logan blinked and straightened his shoulders. “Please do.”

“I don’t want my nephew being caught up in… _whatever it is _that’s happening with your business right now.” On the floor, Virgil stiffened, but didn’t interject. Logan appreciated the discretion as Emile went on to say, “This summer, you… well, to be honest, you made a mess of this town.”

“That wasn’t my doing,” Logan said calmly, his hands flat on the desk in a sign that he wasn’t about to throttle the poor man. Regardless, Emile looked uneasy. “Another vampire was to blame for the ghouls.”

“And that woman could have _killed _him,” Emile pressed, “All because he happened to walk past your mortuary!”

Logan narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin a bit. “Your nephew was drunk and stumbling when he came past my mortuary. He would’ve been easy prey for a vampire, ghoul, or werewolf. Have your pick. But I will not take the blame for his arrogance.”

Emile leaned back as Virgil rose to his feet. He blinked rapidly, his hand to his heart as he repeated, “_Arrogance._”

With Virgil’s hand on his bicep, Logan vaguely heard the word, “_Easy_,” before Virgil’s hand slipped away. Logan took a breath, held it, and let it out slowly.

“He assumed he could stop Annaliese – the vampire responsible for the ghoul attacks – and was lucky that I happened to see her. More than putting your nephew in danger, Mr. Picani, I’m certain I saved his life.”

“Funny,” Emile said, “Because he said it was the other way around.”

Logan’s jaw worked furiously. “I beg your pardon?”

“Hey! You know what I’m curious about? Homunculi,” Virgil spouted uselessly, trying to change the subject without fruition. “I’m super curious. Let’s talk about that.”

Emile crossed his arms over his chest and gave Logan a hard look. “He said that because of his herbs, your little _friend_ – Annaliese, was it? – left in a hurry. _He _saved _you _from getting mauled.”

Logan bristled and his hands clenched atop the desk. “That self-righteous little—”

“Woah! Okay!” Virgil set the coffee beans on the desk, looped an arm through Logan’s, and started dragging Logan toward the door. Again, Virgil had a tendency to forget his strength, meaning instead of forcefully_ pulling _Logan, he yanked Logan back with enough force to send Logan sprawling onto his back.

Which, mind you, was not good for a vampire Logan’s age.

“_Dammit!_ Virgil!” Logan hissed and growled as he lay on the floor, a hand gingerly going to his lower back as he struggled to sit up. Something had been pulled… it wasn’t often he felt old, and it was disheartening to be reminded of it.

“Shit! Oh, man… sorry,” Virgil wrung his hands a bit, took a breath, and looked a little dizzy from the herbs as he stumbled and braced himself on a nearby shelf. “Jesus Christ, Picani…”

“Are you okay?” Emile asked, already rounding the desk with an air of caution. He brought the coffee beans to Virgil – who gladly inhaled the scent rather than succumbing to the herbs – and offered Logan a hand up. Logan met his eye carefully, and Emile gave him a sorry smile. “That looked like a nasty fall.”

Logan hesitated, but accepted the hand. “It’s not every day someone is strong enough to knock me off my feet,” Logan admitted, still holding a hand to his back. “Thank you.”

Emile took a breath, his posture loosening as he gave Logan a long, thoughtful look. “Mr. Stein, you know better than anyone… humans with nether-blood in them are rare.”

“I’m aware.”

Nodding a bit, Emile looked a little sad when he said, “Remy is… Remy is all I have. He’s the only family I have left and we’re all each other has. We’re the only ones in our family that can understand what the other has to go through. Especially with magic.”

Logan softened a bit; Emile didn’t really dislike him. He was afraid. Charlotte was sending their entire town off-kilter. With a nod, Logan straightened his tie and glanced at Virgil. “I assure you, Mr. Picani, I am in no way affiliated with the woman who visited your acquaintance.”

Emile nodded again, looking a little relieved by the affirmation. “I know. I _know _that, I’m just—”

“Concerned,” Logan said as he reached out to help Virgil stand upright again. Virgil leaned into his arm, looking more than a little tired as he stirred his jar of coffee beans. Logan looked back to Emile. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to know more about this young woman.”

Emile blinked hard, then nodded. “If it would help? I don’t know… Valerie said that she came in, asked for a scrying to figure out where the man in the photograph was, and simply left.” He shrugged and wrung his hands a bit. “It’s not as if she did anything drastic.”

Virgil made a face. “Then… what’s up with the sigils?”

“Well,” Emile’s expression went tense as he glanced toward the backroom. “In all honesty, it what Valerie told me… it sets you on edge, you know?” He looked to Logan and said, “Even though people make a point of closing themselves off, you can see what they hide in the colors of their aura.”

Logan frowned; this was old magic. Auras and whatnot… that was his mother’s expertise. Unfortunately, she was no longer at his disposal for magic advice. So he was without magic and without knowledge to understand what Emile was trying to say. Luckily, Emile went on without prompting.

“Valerie said she had a gray aura. Strange, right?” Emile didn’t wait for an answer. “It is. It _is _because, well, only mindless creatures have gray auras. Ghouls, ghosts… half-formed homunculi—”

“Still curious about those,” Virgil piped up sourly. Emile gave him a lighthearted chuckle.

“And you’ll be the first person I call when I finish my work with them, Virgil. I promise. But really,” he straightened his glasses. “This young woman was _clearly_ not mindless. She knew what she was doing, what she was asking; she was coherent and thoughtful. Mr. Stein,” Emile said sternly, “Should I be concerned?”

“I think you’ve gotten ahead of yourself,” said Logan. “You’ve already placed your sigils.”

“I’m prepared,” Emile said with a smile, completely unfazed by Logan’s skeptical eyebrow raise. “I just want my store to be kept safe.”

Logan was highly aware of the way Virgil’s hand slipped into the back pocket of his trousers. He wasn’t even reaching for anything. He just… slotted his hand into the pocket. And left it there. Logan struggled to keep his face neutral as he said, “This young woman may be the granddaughter of my employee, Mr. Jenkins.”

Emile’s eyebrows made a run for his hairline. “Oh? I didn’t know this was a family issue—”

“It’s not.” Virgil’s voice was stiff. His hand was still in Logan’s back pocket. He looked very serious as he said, “It’s not a family thing. Patton didn’t even know who she was.”

Emile’s brow furrowed as he frowned. “A _very _complex family issue." He fiddled with his hands a bit before gesturing to the backroom, “Would you like to sit down? Have a cup of tea?”

Logan’s back ached unhappily. “I would like to sit,” he placed a hand against the small of Virgil’s back. “And though I can’t drink, Virgil might.”

They followed Emile to the back room, sat down at the small table that had clearly been set up for a séance once upon a time. There were sigils scratched into the wood. Some of them were unfamiliar, many were recognizable. A sigil to keep away bad energy. A sigil for good luck. A sigil to keep spirits peaceable. Many of those sigils had been carved into the stonework under his home with his mother. She had taught him what they meant, so long ago.

He didn’t know that it was going to come in handy so many years later.

Virgil sat quietly at the table, looking around at the tapestries and giving the shimmering glass jars on the shelves. The light was low. The air was gentle. A good alchemist trick laced with all kinds of magic. It was to set them at ease. Logan appreciated the effort.

When Emile came back to the table, he set a cup of tea on the table for Virgil, sliding it across the worn, wood surface slow and deliberately. He sat down just as slow, his expression calm and open as he said, “Look… I know we’ve had our differences, Logan. But… you have to know that I just don’t want anything to happen to my nephew.”

“I understand,” Logan said calmly. Virgil sipped his tea, watching the interaction carefully.

“So you understand,” said Emile with a gentle smile, “That I don’t want to be involved with whatever this young woman is trying to stir up.”

Logan took a moment to think before he replied, “I think you can understand, Mr. Picani, that I have no control over the matter. This woman is not under my thumb. I have no guarantee that she won’t visit your place of business.”

Emile laughed a bit at that. “Ever the businessman! Have you thought of changing professions? You’d make an _incredible_ lawyer.”

Virgil snorted at that, taking another small sip of tea. He couldn’t handle much human food or drink, but at least he could still enjoy minute tastes of it. Slightly amused, Logan straightened his glasses. “I’ll take it under advisement, Mr. Picani. But, returning to the mater of the young woman…”

“Right, right,” Emile took his mug of tea and fiddled with the teabag for a few seconds. “Valerie said she was polite. Straightforward. Nonthreatening.” Emile shrugged and took a sip of tea. “Really, the aura was the thing that set me off.”

Logan nodded thoughtfully, a hand on the table drumming against the sigils that warded off negative-spirits. “Her appearance?”

Emile blinked over the rim of his mug, then lowered it, holding the cup in both hands as he hummed and said, “Oh… not tall. Brunette. Curly hair. Very smiley.” He set the cup on the table and quirked an eyebrow, “Honestly, Valerie only told me a little about her. Just so I knew what to look for.”

Virgil’s voice echoed oddly in the room. “She was scared.”

“Yeah, I could tell that much.” Emile smiled softly. “It wasn’t that this young lady was violent… but alchemists and witches can sense the energy that envelopes a person.”

“The aura?” Virgil asked, leaning forward for information. “You already said that freaked her out.”

“It’s more than the aura,” Emile said gently, his expression soft and unsure. “Even without looking for an aura, you can _feel _energy. There was something… malcontent, she said. Something under… a lot of fear. She was scared.” He met Logan’s eye with a flicker of fear in his brown eyes. “I think she was running from something… I just can’t imagine why she’d be running to _you_.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. Was he supposed to be offended by that? It seemed more fact than insult. Carefully, he tapped his fingers on the table a bit more.

“She seemed sure of herself,” Logan said smoothly. “She wanted to find Patton.’

“And she found him,” Emile noted as he thumbed the rim of his mug. “I guess my question is, what happens next?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Logan stood and pushed in his chair. “Thank you for the warning, Mr. Picani. I can understand why you were insistent I come.”

Emile stood up quickly, holding his hand out for Logan to shake. “I just wanted to make my stance clear. I just… I just don’t want—”

“You want your nephew safe. I understand.” Logan took his hand, shook it, and felt something slip into his hand. He took the offered object – a piece of paper? – and tucked it into his pocket. He looked to Virgil, watching as he sipped the last of his tea and set the mug aside. “We should be going.”

Even with the self-dismissal, Emile looked unsure. “Mr. Stein, this young lady… do you think she’ll be in town long?”

“Long enough, I suppose,” Logan said as he exited the back room and returned to the storefront. The mandrakes on the high shelf shivered nervously, and he ignored them. Virgil eyed the potions on the bookshelf oddly as they headed for the door. He paused there, turning to look back at the alchemist. “She said we’d be seeing more of her. I’m unsure just how far that offer extended.”

“Above the front door,” Emile said softly. Logan quirked an eyebrow; what on earth did that mean? He pat his pocket, and Logan blinked. The paper. Emile smiled. “Place it above the front door.”

Virgil made a face, looking to Logan for an explanation, but Logan didn’t offer one. He simply nodded politely and opened the door for Virgil. “Good evening, Mr. Picani.”

“Merry meet, Mr. Stein,” Emile said softly, his words laced with more witch than alchemist knowledge. Logan looked back at him, seeing the magic, golden glint of the irises from far away. Emile smiled, and waved them away. “May you go in comfort.”

+++++

1937 – North Dakota

_Patton’s hands shook as blood welled along his leg. The gunshot still had his ears ringing. Roman was yelling. Grabbing for the gun. He wasn’t able to remain corporeal enough to take it away. Patton fell back against the stairs._

_ He was going to end it. He was going to shoot. To pull the trigger and let it all go dark… and then he saw Roman’s face. His horrified, broken expression. He lost his nerve. He tore the gun from his temple… but it went off anyway._

_ Above them, in the actual mortuary, Logan surely heard the gunshot. He would come running, as Patton knew he would. The August wind turned the sea of grain an odd, ashen color outside the storm window of the basement. Patton looked at the sweeping colors. Black blood on his hands. Gold grain in the window. Roman’s hands on his face. Roman… Roman._

_ “Patton! Angel, please. Please, no,” Roman’s hands cupped his cheeks, brushed under his eyes, wiping away tears that Patton didn’t even realize were there. He kissed his face, his forehead, his cheeks, his chin… not his lips. Never his lips. Patton cried. “Good god… I thought… I thought we’d… I thought you…”_

_ The door to the basement swung open. Patton’s leg burned with the fractured gunshot. Roman was babbling, trying to get some coherent thought out of him. Patton only cried. Logan was shouting. The gun was taken away. He was left on the stairs, cold, shivering, the blood quickly drying and the pain stubbornly persisting._

_ He loved Roman. He _loved _Roman. He was a monster, and he loved this scared, half-corporeal man. It was too much… and not enough. So close, but not enough contact. He pulled the trigger, and there was no relief. Patton cried, and there was no comfort. He drank… _

_ And the world was blissfully dark, if only for a while._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy howdy, where did Charlotte go? She's been MIA since chapter 1.
> 
> I'm on tumblr @ misplaced-my-notes.
> 
> See you next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

1937 – North Dakota

_ “One more!” Rachel said with a laugh, her blouse hanging loosely where she leaned against the bar. She tapped her cigarette against the ashtray, sitting forward to catch Patton’s eye. He tipped his head back and downed the whiskey, and Rachel laughed when he nearly fell off his stool. “There he goes! You’re so fun, Mr. Harvey. So fun.”_

_ Patton hiccupped and laughed bit, his hand on the glass slipping a bit as he fumbled for the bar. The room was swimming, tilting at an odd rate as Rachel tapped her cigarette again. Red glowing ash against the gray of her blouse. Hair that was pinned up so nicely… it curled so elegantly. Like Roman’s. Patton swallowed thickly. Roman. Roman. He took another drink, and Rachel laughed again._

_ “God, I finally meet a man who can drink me under the table and he’s handsome to boot… what’s your secret?” She leaned into his arm and offered him a drag from her cigarette. He breathed deep, letting the smoke settle in his lungs before letting it out with a sigh. She was dangerously close to him when she murmured, “Have any vices, Mr. Harvey? A secret wife?”_

_ Patton turned his glass slowly. “No wife. No family. No vices.” He paused, then frowned. “No _happiness_. Mr. Porter makes sure of that.”_

_ “Ah, Porter… you’ve spoken about him.” Rachel rested her head on Patton’s shoulder and took a long smoke before she crushed the bud in the ashtray. She smelled like tobacco. Like burnt soap and ash. Patton took another drink, and Rachel touched his wrist when he came back down. “Not much of a boss, is he?”_

_ “He’s not a boss,” Patton croaked sadly into his drink. “He’s a… a wrangler. He’s got me on a leash, Mrs. Fields.”_

_ “Miss.”_

_ Patton blinked. “Sorry?”_

_ “Miss Fields,” Rachel said with a smile. Her eyes glinted in the low light of the bar. An illusion to keep the alcohol flowing. A trick to keep them glued to the seats. Her eyes glinted like Roman’s, but her smiled was too wicked to be his. Patton missed him. He longed for Roman… so he stayed away. Rachel smiled, and Patton looked away. “Maybe we should run away, Mr. Harvey. Run away from this town and never look back.”_

_ “I couldn’t,” Patton said softly as he turned his glass in a slow circle. “I wish I could, but… I couldn’t.”_

_ “Not even a little?” Rachel asked, coy and gentle as she brushed a stray curl behind her ear. Patton looked at her. She was waiting for him. Just a single word, and he could forget Roman. Forget that he was broken. Forget that he was a monster. He could run from it all. Fall on his own sword and be thankful for the bleeding. Rachel tilted her head and murmured, “Just for one night?”_

_ Patton twisted his glass… and downed the last of his whiskey._

+++++

Charlotte didn’t return the following morning. It had been an eventful day (and evening) and everyone in the house had expected her to come rushing back with fire and pitchforks. No such thing occurred. The house stayed silent. Patton manned the front desk with Roman cooing and singing to him. Virgil went upstairs to shower and sleep. Logan lingered by the front door, pulling the paper from his pocket and looking what Emile Picani had gifted him.

It was a spell. One written plainly, to protect the dwelling where it resided. Blessings of the earth and moon would be upon it. Logan wasn’t sure if he believed it, but he tacked the paper to the doorframe regardless. And there it remained for the next three days.

Three days without Charlotte. Three days of quiet silence. Three days of wondering: had it just been a collective fever dream? Charlotte sweeping into their lives, confusing them, and sending them reeling as she slipped away? Logan wouldn’t mind if that was the case. He wouldn’t mind if she _never _came back. Things were better this way.

In more ways than one, _Patton _was better this way. He settled back into himself like a bird that had been startled out of the nest only to come back and realize the danger was imaginary. Roman resumed his fluttering and twittering like the flamboyant, love-sick spirit that he was. Perhaps Logan was going soft, but he _liked _it this way. He liked the house to be calm and content. Easy with each passing day. The soothing kind of desire that left the mortuary feeling small and cozy.

Early on Friday morning, he sat at his desk, balancing the finances of the mortuary. Their gas and water bill had gone up since Virgil had moved in. Unsurprising, since Virgil tended to get cold often (and he turned the heat too high) and their shared showers went long (Virgil insisted on having lengthy debates under the hot water). Logan didn’t mind it. It was another thing to enjoy about domesticity.

On the bed, Virgil kicked his feet against the blankets, his voice muffled by a pillow as he grunted, “Hey.”

Logan didn’t look up from his desk. “Yes.”

“Pay attention to me.”

Logan sighed. “I’m paying bills.”

“Still want some attention.”

Folding a bill, Logan pushed it into an envelope and set it aside. “You’ve been laying there, ignoring me, listening to your...” He waved his hand loosely, “_Bebop_ music for two hours. I can’t see how attention is so urgently needed at this moment.”

Virgil sat up. “Did you just say bebop?”

Logan wrote a new check. He’d have to be careful with erasing his banking information when they moved in a few years. “Let me finish this, and I’ll lay down with you.”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil snorted, “I’m still stuck on bebop.”

“It’s music. It makes you dance. It has complex rhythms and harmonies,” Logan said dismissively. “So. Bebop.”

“I don’t _dance. _I wiggle. Sometimes_,” _Virgil fell back against the back with a laugh. “_Bebop_. You are _so _fucking _old_.”

Setting aside his pen, Logan loosened his tie and went to the window. Pulling at the curtains, he saw the sky going pink with the suggestion of sunrise. Patton was still asleep, but he’d wake up soon. Then, he would make a pot of coffee and go downstairs. Logan enjoyed going to sleep before him; before the smell of the coffee could permeate the bedroom.

He closed the bedroom door and climbed into bed, indulging Virgil’s laughter when he leaned in to kiss his neck. Virgil welcomed him in, turning off the bedside lamp as he kicked back the blankets and then pulled them up and over the two of them.

For just a minute, they lay under the blankets. Long, slow kisses shared between them. It was calming. Soothing among the face of their unease. Even so, like anything, it didn’t last forever. Virgil pulled back, their noses touching as he took Logan’s glasses and put them on the nightstand.

“So,” he said in the dark. Logan squinted, seeing Virgil’s outline and the silhouette of his hair… and not much else. He wished his eyes were better, but Virgil made up for it, ducking down to kiss him. Logan closed his eyes and kissed back gently, licking his lips when Virgil pulled back again and repeated, “_So_…”

“So?”

“It’s been like… a week since she showed up.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “It’s been three days, actually.”

Virgil shifted, the dark shadow of him settling down against Logan’s chest and pressing his cold nose to Logan’s neck. “She hasn’t come back. Maybe it was a fluke.”

Logan thought about this for a moment, his fingers drumming against Virgil’s shoulder through the thin cotton of his nightshirt. “What exactly were you expecting?”

“Uh… not sure, I guess.” Virgil shrugged. “I guess she’d come back, guns blazing.”

“Firearms aren’t allowed on the premises,” Logan said stiffly. Virgil pinched him.

“You know what I meant. I just… she said she’d be back. She said we’d see more of her,” Virgil tilted his head back, but in the dark of the room, Logan couldn’t see what expression he was making as he murmured, “So where the hell is she?”

Logan blinked once, his eyes slowly adjusting to the low light as he sighed, “Picani _did _give me a spell to protect the house. Perhaps it’s doing its job.”

“Probably,” Virgil settled back down, thumbing at the collar of Logan’s shirt as he spoke. “Remy says his uncle is damn smart. Alchemy and magic and stuff.”

Logan nodded. “I don’t doubt that.”

“So you think that’s enough?” Virgil asked, his hands going still as he waited for a response. Logan’s brow furrowed; he wasn’t sure _what _to say. Virgil tried again. “You think they spell will keep were away? Like… that’ll be enough? _Good enough_?”

“I’m not certain,” Logan admitted gently. “There are very few things of which anyone can be certain; and safety is rarely one of them.”

Virgil sighed. “You’re talking like a Victorian poet again.”

“Pardon me,” Logan grumbled as he closed his eyes. “I’m just not sure the spell will have much effect on her. She isn’t a deliverer or bad energy or pestilence.” He tapped his finger against Virgil’s shoulder thoughtfully, “Even put above the doorframe, I don’t see why it would ever keep her away.”

“So, that just brings up my question again,” Virgil said softly in the dark. Fatigue dragged Logan down and under the shadows, hardly sure what to say when Virgil murmured, “Where the hell is she?”

+++++

1937 – North Dakota

_Rachel’s legs were wrapped around his waist. Skin slick with sweat. Her voice, her words, her hands…. It all grated on Patton’s nerves. He wished he was with Roman, his voice, his hands, his body… Patton choked for breath. He wanted to enjoy it. He wanted to lie and say it was good. The alcohol made things blurry. His head was spinning. Even so, he braced his hands on either side of Rachel’s head and closed his eyes._

_ She told him to move faster, and he did. She told him to thrust harder, and he did. She told him to kiss her, and Patton refused. Tears welled in his eyes. Rachel said it was good. Rachel said she loved him. That was a lie. She didn’t even know him. Those were just words said in the heat of the moment. Patton’s cried, and the tears were lost in the movement._

_ He wished it was Roman. He wished he was home, lying with him. Wished he had Roman in his arms, loving him, grasping at him, sweating and shivering with anticipation. At the same time, he wanted to bury those feelings and never let them surface. He buried himself between Rachel’s legs and tried to forget it. Tried to forget Roman. But it didn’t work._

_ Rachel cried out in rapture, and Patton hid his face again her sweat-slick skin. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, raked down his arms. Tears flowed in earnest._

_ He longed for Roman._

_ He longed for Roman._

_ He longed for Roman._

+++++

Patton liked the smell of coffee; it didn’t taste the same to him now that he was ghoul. It tasted like someone had put a bit of sand into the cup and mixed it with warm water. The smell of it reminded him of home, though. It reminded him of his mother up in the morning early before the sun had risen over the horizon. It reminded him of slipping out of bed to help his father in the fields. It reminded him of his sister, sleepy and giggly at the breakfast table as he kissed her hair and kissed his mother’s cheek on his way out the door.

These were fond memories… but they were fading with age. Time and time and _time _had passed, giving way to new memories. Something that filled in the sad, aching gap left behind by the family that had long-since moved on without him.

Coffee was no associated with waking up after a night with Roman. It reminded him of finding his footing in the mortuary, greeting strangers and fitting into the work he did there. It reminded him of long, nightly conversations with Roman. Neither of them would (or even could) drink it, but it was brewed just for the smell of it. Just for the warmth of the cup in Patton’s hands.

Coffee was not a drink, it was a vessel for comfort. Now, after years of training himself, he’d given up the habit of waking up and taking a drink of whiskey. Instead he woke up, kissed Roman good morning, and brewed coffee he didn’t drink.

He sat at the lobby desk with the coffee carafe on the warmer, his planner out and schedule clean and crisp in front of him. He had a notebook that Virgil had given him, one filled with little math problems that Patton could practice in his spare time. After having a limited education, Patton was _enjoying _learning new things, even if numbers were confusing. Plus, it was a welcome distraction from the threat of Charlotte hanging heavily over their heads.

Roman stood behind him, arms wrapped around his waist as he hummed a song that Patton didn’t recognize. Patton smiled and counted on his fingers as the morning hours ticked past. It was a quiet, quiet Friday. One that Patton welcomed. Tomorrow, they had a funeral. Work had resumed as usual. Another good distraction. That didn’t make the anxiety completely disappear, but it was a nice reprieve. Like a deep, deep breath before a scream.

“Patton…” Roman said after a while. Patton hummed and shakily wrote a two on the paper, rethought it, and erased it. Roman kissed the back of his neck. “Never mind. You got it. So _smart,_ angel! What a little genius you are.”

Patton giggled shyly as he twiddled his pencil between his thumb and forefinger. “You know how to do math?” Roman hummed thoughtfully.

“I had an expensive education,” he admitted. “Mommy wanted the best. We had Daddy’s money.” He shrugged and snaked his arms around Patton’s middle and hugged him close with a smile. “You _know _this, angel.”

“I know you’re smart,” Patton admitted gently, putting a hand over Roman’s as they swayed a bit. “Math smarts are a whole other kind of smart.”

“It’s just like anything,” Roman murmured before he kissed the shell of Patton’s ear. “And knowing your multiplication tables doesn't magically make you a scholar. Look at you, darling! Thoughtful and compassionate... and a warm heart to boot. An angel among men is what you are.”

Patton laughed at that. “Oh, darlin’… are you sweet-talking me? You don't need to try to win me over. You already have me, Roman.”

“I do, don’t I?” Roman said, a little smug as he hugged Patton a bit. He watched Patton fumble with the multiplication chart again, counting on his fingers and carefully writing numbers down under Roman’s watchful eye. After a few minutes, Roman kissed his hair and sighed happily. “Oh, you are _wonderful_.”

“I’m just adding,” Patton said with a little laugh. “I can’t be the first smart boy you’ve ever met.”

“No,” Roman said softly. “You’re not.”

Patton gave him a curious smile over his shoulder. “Did you ever fall in love with one of them?”

Roman grinned. “I did.”

Patton’s heart stuttered; the coffee smelled like it was burned. His eyes went wide. Roman never spoke of any past relationships before. Was this a secret come out to play? Did he think it was time to reveal it, now that Charlotte’s existence had come into the light?

“How,” Patton paused, chose his words carefully, and asked, “How did it end?”

Roman looked at him for a long time. His eyes gentle, expression soft, and smile fond as he took Patton’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “It hasn’t yet.”

“Oh. _Oh_,” Patton let out a breath with a smile. “Oh, you gave me a spook.”

Roman chuckled and pulled him in for a proper kiss. Patton threw his arms around Roman’s neck and kissed back without hurry. Roman smiled against his lips and touched their noses together. “I love easy, darling. But _falling _in love is an entirely different story. I fell for you a hundred years ago… Heavens, I think I’m _still _falling.”

“That makes two of us,” Patton said softly. “I was just too silly to see it.”

Roman’s smile fell a bit, his hands around Patton’s waist pinching the fabric of his shirt as he gave Patton a long look. “There were laws against what we had. What we wanted. I could never blame you for being afraid.”

Patton pressed his lips together and sighed. “I… I wanted you from the beginning. I wanted… _something_… and I was scared to realize that it wasn’t the same with Emily. I was… afraid to know that…. That these butterflies in my stomach weren’t… all in my head.”

Roman cocked his head to the side curiously. “So, you knew before you met me.”

“I knew that I was with Emily,” Patton said softly, “Because my Mama wanted me to settle down with a nice girl. And Emily _was _a nice girl. She took an interest in me, and… well. The rest is history.”

Roman touched their foreheads together. “Being told to want something all your life... being told that it's _unnatural _to want otherwise... it's an awful way to live. I think some confusion, and some worry, was warranted.”

“But I knew you’d never hurt me,” Patton said softly. “I _knew _you’d never… so why was I…?”

“Chalk it up to one hundred years of repression, my love.” Roman kissed his nose, and Patton giggled a bit. Roman smiled and held him close. “I, for one, take comfort in the fact that we don’t have to hide anymore.”

“So do I,” Patton said softly, his eyes falling closed as he laid his head on Roman’s shoulder. They stood there for a moment, rocking back and forth as Patton thought. Then, quietly, Patton murmured, “Roman?”

“Angel?”

“Tell me… tell me nothing will change if Charlotte comes back.”

Roman hesitated, but said, “Nothing will change.”

“You’ll… you’ll still believe me when I say I love you?”

No hesitation. “Of course I’ll believe you.”

“And you’ll still love me?”

There wasn’t even a beat of thought before Roman kissed his hair and murmured, “I’ll always love you, darling. Until the day I cease to exist.”

+++++

1937 – North Dakota

_“I’m leaving.”_

_ Roman sat at the bottom of the stairs, watching him carefully. His statement hung in the air like a threat. Patton wasn’t sure what to make of it. His head was pounding. It was too early to think coherently. Even so, the words were sharp like cut glass. Stained glass windows in his home town. Sand-worn panes of rough, cut color. Roman looked miserable. None of the colors suited him. He was in muted grays, sitting on the bottom step with a damning statement. Patton wobbled where he stood next to his bed._

_ “Leaving?” He repeated, a little breathless. “Why?”_

_ “Because I can’t do this anymore.” Roman slapped his hands on his knees and leaned back, his loose shirt falling open to reveal tan, smooth skin. Patton banished his eyes to the floor, but Roman didn’t stop there. “I can’t sit here and watch you drink yourself to death.”_

_ “I can’t,” Patton grumbled as he pulled a tie from his closet. This ‘closet’ were two hangers. One with his work clothes and one with an old, worn plaid from down south. It would need patches soon. He started to tie his tie as he grumbled, “Logan said I’m a ghoul. Ghouls can’t drink to death.”_

_ “You know what I’m trying to say,” Roman said, insistent and desperate as he stood and looked at Patton across the basement. “I can’t just sit by, watching you destroy yourself.”_

_ Patton’s hands paused on the knot of his tie. It felt like a noose, and for the first time in many years, he refused to tighten it. He didn’t turn to meet Roman’s eye. “So, you’re leaving.”_

_ “I can’t save you,” Roman murmured gently. “You won’t let me.”_

_ Patton braced himself. “Roman.”_

_ “You won’t let me _touch _you, and you’re… you’re falling _apart_ right in front of me!” He stayed across the room. It almost hurt. A big, gaping distance between them and hardly a breath between the words. Patton closed his eyes tight. “And I can’t catch you if you don’t let me!”_

_ Turning harshly, Patton gave him a frightened look. Roman was flickering. His body was only half-there, fading under the weight of his feelings. Patton almost wanted to reach out, to say that it was okay to touch. To take back the limits. To break the rule that he, himself, had erected. But he didn’t. He stayed by the wall, hands clenched and eyes open wide._

_ “What do you _want_?” Patton asked. The words didn’t come out right. The question wasn’t delivered properly. Even so, Roman understood. Forty years together gave him time to understand Patton’s language. And that thought almost burned._

_ “I want you to choose,” Roman said thinly. “Me. Or drinking.”_

_ “That’s not fair.”_

_ “I think it is,” Roman said. Patton opened his mouth, and Roman stomped his foot. “It is! If you choose drinking, I can leave and feel no remorse! I might even be able to _hate_ you.”_

_ Patton’s face felt hot as he recoiled from the statement. “I don’t want you to hate me.”_

_ “Then—”_

_ “But—”_

_ “No!” Roman shouted as he waved his arms wildly. “No! There is no ‘but’! That’s it! Me or drinking! Choose!”_

_ Looking around frantically, Patton looked for a way out. Drinking wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t an issue. He could still do it. Why did Roman want him to give it up? It made him feel good. It made him feel better. He didn’t have to give it up. He could give up Roman._

_ Patton blinked; _give up Roman_? He… he couldn’t do that. Not even if he wanted to. Roman was sunshine. Roman was love and light and hope. Giving him up was giving up on the future. Giving up Roman was giving up on breathing. Patton’s palms were sweating, he couldn’t think straight. His head hurt. He looked everywhere; the wall, the floor, the stairs… anywhere but Roman’s hurt expression._

_ “I can’t… I can’t just—”_

_ “Then you choose drinking?” Roman asked, his voice cracking and body dangerously translucent._

_ Patton shook his head and wrung his hands. “Don’t put words in my mouth!”_

_ “Make a choice, dammit!”_

_ “Why?” Patton shouted, his voice bouncing oddly in the confined space. He was shaking, his eyes finally, _finally_, flickering across Roman. His stiff shoulders, his long, long legs, and his white, billowing shirt. His expression, so tormented, so hurt… Patton clenched his teeth. “Why do I have to choose? Why do you have to—why—”_

_ “I love you! I love you and love you, and you don’t want to hear it!” Roman took a shuddering breath, and his voice dropped down to a frightened, trembling whisper. “You don’t… if you don’t love me, that’s fine. But I still love you, angel.” He closed his eyes and shook his head hard. “Patton. I love… you… and you don’t want to hear it. But I can’t _not _care for you. I can’t stop worrying.” He lifted his head. “But if you… chose drinking? Over me? I might be able to cut the tie.” Patton’s stomach hurt. He didn’t breathe. Roman looked utterly defeated. “If you chose the wine and the whiskey… tell me to leave? I could turn my back. I could even say I hate you, some day.”_

_ “I don’t—”_

_ “Tell me you don’t need me,” Roman plead, arms outstretched – to hug? To hold? To push Patton away? – and his voice was soft. “Tell me you don’t want me.”_

_ Patton stepped forward, hands coming up to grasp at Roman’s shirt. He didn’t pull himself in. Not until he could feel the thin fabric under his fingers. Not until Roman was solid weight under his hands. He looked at him, eyes watery and throat tight as he let out a shaky breath._

_ “I can’t… not want you. I can’t just.” He refused to meet Roman’s eyes, choosing to stare at the open collar of his shirt. “You want me to admit it? You want me to admit I’m just… just some stupid farm boy? In love with some big-city singer? A singer who’s not…” Patton dropped his head onto Roman’s shoulder and exhaled heavily. “Not even _alive_.”_

_ Roman didn’t hold him. He hadn’t for a long time. Not since Patton set boundaries and started to distance himself. The lack of touch was painful as they stood there in the basement, Patton clinging to Roman’s shirt and leaning against him. Roman’s arms remained at his side. Respectful, if not fearful._

_ “I just don’t want to see you fall apart,” Roman said, “Not anymore.”_

_ “And I don’t want to fall apart.” A pause. “I don’t want you to go.”_

_ “Then…?” _

_ Roman’s hand slid up his back, slow and deliberate, giving Patton a chance to pull away. He didn’t. When a hand cradled the back of Patton’s neck, he sighed into the cold, cold skin of Roman’s neck. Roman’s cheek was soft against his. Cold, but smooth and soft. A city-boy who didn’t know the heat of the sun. Patton lifted his head. Roman’s nose brushed against his. Eyes too close to see clearly. Breath close enough to taste. Patton’s eyes fluttered closed, and Roman kissed him._

_ Just soft, at first. Time to let Patton pull back. Time for him to run and change his mind. Patton sighed and kissed him back. It was so _gentle_. Lovers were soft like this? Lovers were kind? Patton never knew. He didn’t know it could feel like this._

_ When Roman kissed him, he felt like the world stopped turning, just for a moment. Just a breath and everything ceased to exist. Roman tilted his head and kissed him just so, and Patton felt lighter than air._

_ He felt his feet step back, and he dragged Roman with him, his hands on his collar and pulling him toward the bed. Roman went willingly, his body still tangible as he moved. His brow was furrowed. His eyes were still closed. His breath was so, so cold… and Patton kissed him again._

_ “Darling,” Roman breathed as Patton’s knees hit the back of the bed. “Angel,” he sighed when Patton sat down and ran his hands over Roman’s chest slowly. The fabric warped under his hands, soft and real. It was hard to imagine that Roman didn’t really have a body. He was right there. Under his hands. His chest rising and falling with breaths that needn’t be taken. Patton’s hands quivered as he dragged his palms down Roman’s chest, feeling the muscles there. Roman sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, Patton…”_

_ Patton looked up at him, seeing the way Roman smiled. It was heart-wrenching. Like he was witnessing a dream… and he couldn’t truly believe it was happening Like it was something apart to crumble under his touch. Patton almost took his hands away, but Roman caught his wrist and held him._

_ “I can stop,” Patton said softly, his cheeks flushed and eyes flickering to the wide-open collar of Roman’s shirt. He banished his gaze back to Roman’s sleepy eyes. “I can stop.”_

_ “Please don’t,” Roman murmured as he placed Patton’s hands on his hips. Patton held there, gripping the black fabric of Roman’s trousers while Roman’s hands played with his hair. “I just want you to be sure.”_

_ “Sure?”_

_ “Don’t do this to make me stay,” Roman whispered, a little more broken than before. “Don’t lie to me to keep me here. It’s crueler for us both.”_

_ Blinking hard, Patton leaned forward to press his face to Roman’s abdomen. Roman let him hide there, petting his hair while Patton’s hands fisted in his shirt. “I don’t… I’m never going to want to stop. Drinking, I mean. I won’t… ever want to stop. It’s liquid relief. Feels… better. And warm.” Roman started to pull away, but Patton wrapped his arms around him and held tight. “And I’m… I’m scared. Of loving you. Of having you. I’m scared.”_

_ “And you think I’m not?” Roman said, soft and unsure. Patton closed his eyes tight. He’d never heard Roman like that. He was always sure. Always confident. Always, always… “You think I’m not afraid? I’m in love with a man who’s intent on killing himself.”_

_ “I won’t,” Patton promised, a little anxious that Roman would disappear under his hands. “I won’t. I won’t try again. I won’t—”_

_ “Angel—”_

_ “I’ve never… never felt the way I feel about you with anyone else—”_

_ “I don’t want to lose you, darling. I’m not even sure how I’m here… but if you die, you might not come back."_

_ “I’m sorry.”_

_ Roman shook his head and gripped Patton’s hair tight. “I’m afraid that you’ll just—”_

_ Patton held him just as tightly. “Right here. I just want you here, for the rest of our lives—”_

_ “Angel, I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere, my darling. I just can’t bear to see you like this anymore. I’ll stay as long as you want me. I promise. I swear—”_

_ “Roman,” Patton said, leaning back and grabbing at Roman’s shoulders. The desperate words stopped. _

_ “Darling?”_

_ Patton reached up, taking Roman’s face and pulling him down ever so carefully. Roman kissed him softly, lips parted and skin cool to the touch. Patton could’ve cried. He was so soft. So gentle. Roman braced his hands on the bed when Patton laid back on the bed, still reaching for Roman. He followed without question, crawling over Patton and settling atop him without any hesitation._

_ It was a slow exploration. Patton wasn’t exactly sure what to do with his hands; they wandered from Roman’s shoulders, to his hair, then down to his hips, holding and keeping Roman against him. With Roman settled between his hips, Patton sighed into his mouth and kissed him slowly. Languidly. There was no hurry. Roman wasn’t going anywhere. Still, the fear remained._

_ “It’s alright,” Roman promised, like he could read Patton’s mind. He pivoted his head and kissed along Patton’s jaw. He nipped at Patton’s ear, and Patton’s body jolted as his eyes flew open. He grasped at Roman desperately, holding him close as Roman chuckled. “I’m here. I’m here.”_

_ “Roman,” breathed Patton as his eyes fluttered shut again. He was warm, he was cold… a blush under the skin and Roman cold as death against him. Goosebumps spread along his arms, but when he shivered, it was because of Roman’s lips on his neck. He kissed there, his tongue dragging over Patton’s skin so slowly, it was almost torturous. Patton’s spine arched without his say so, and he pressed against Roman urgently. “Roman…”_

_ When Patton grabbed his hair and pulled him back up, Roman only chuckled as he was dragged back in for a kiss. He licked into Patton’s mouth, and Patton could only moan in response. He’d never felt like this with Emily. Never been so happy to touch, to feel, to kiss. He’d never _wanted_ so much. To keep Roman with him, to hide away in the basement for days on end. Just to kiss him. Just to have him there, between his legs, breathless, happy whispers between them._

_ Shifting a bit, Patton leaned back to lick his lips nervously. Roman got on his hands and knees, giving Patton a little space if he needed it. Patton avoided his eye as he tugged at his belt awkwardly, trying to ignore the bulge in his pants to no avail. “Sorry.”_

_ “Don’t,” Roman said with a soft smile. He ducked down to kiss Patton again. “I consider it a compliment.”_

_ Patton hummed, looking away to give Roman an anxious look. “But… but you—”_

_ “I’m dead, darling,” he said softly. “It’s not quite possible for me to—"_

_ Patton squirmed a bit, his face burning as Roman kissed his cheek. Something in his stomach twisted, a little nervous as Roman settled between his thighs again. Roman kissed him, and he lost his anxiety beneath the feel of Roman’s cold lips against his._

_ With a slow roll of Roman’s hips against his, Patton threw his head back and moaned. Oh, that felt good. It felt _so good_. Roman kissed his jaw again, his smile clear as he rocked his hips again. Patton grabbed at the pillow under his head, grasping at the fabric as his hips bucked of their own volition._

_ “Is it good, darling?”_

_ Patton sucked in a deep breath, “Roman…”_

_ A hand slid between them, palming Patton through his trousers. Patton almost wept. “Tell me if it’s good. Do you feel good?”_

_ “Roman!”_

_ “That’s my name,” Roman said sweetly, so innocently, Patton wanted to be angry at him. He wasn’t, though. Good god, he couldn’t be mad at Roman if he tried. He tried to open his mouth, tried to say something – anything – but Roman kissed the words away. “Let me take care of you. Please, _please, _let me make you feel so remarkably good. Better than whiskey. Better than any drink.”_

_ “You do,” Patton promised as he passed a shaking hand through Roman’s incredibly soft hair. “You… you make me feel…”_

_ With a wave of Roman’s hand, his clothes were gone. Patton’s hands slid over his bare back, cold to the touch but skin as smooth as silk. Roman sighed happily, his eyes closed and smile clear on his face as he hooked a leg over Patton’s hips and pressed them together so close, Patton was sure they’d simply phase together._

_ Patton’s clothing took longer to remove. Patton wearing actual, physical fabric was frustrating for Roman, but he took his time. Unbuttoning each button with a kiss. Cold hands splayed across a bare chest, and Patton shivering and arching into the touch. Patton giggled when his belt got stuck and Roman fumbled at the clasp. He left on his socks; it was too cold otherwise, he reasoned. They smiled. They kissed. They held together, naked and hands tracing seams as if they would never, ever see one another again._

_ Patton felt _human_._

_ Roman was straddling his hips, his head thrown back as he let out a relieved, happy moan. Patton could only grip his hips and hold on for dear life. He felt incredible. He looked amazing. Sitting there with that blissful smile as he looked down at Patton with a wide, cheeky grin. Taking Patton’s hands and lacing their fingers together, Roman used this as leverage as he moved slowly, rolling his hips so carefully, Patton couldn’t breathe._

_ Was this what it meant to make love? To be so happy, so adored, to have so many _feelings_ as he was buried deep in Roman? Maybe. Maybe he’d been scared. Maybe he’d been afraid to face himself. Something so good, something so _freeing_, it had to be sin. But Roman wasn’t a sin._

_ With all his talk of ‘angel,’ it seemed Roman was the only holy one among them. A gift from Heaven. His saving grace. Up there, biting his lip as he rocked his hips a little harder. There, leaning forward to kiss Patton with trembling lips. Moaning into his mouth as Patton thrust into him. He was the angel, not Patton._

_ “Roman,” he gasped, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Roman’s thigh. Roman hummed, his curly hair falling over his brow as he moved. Heat coiled in Patton’s stomach. Something tight at the base of his spine, his hips lifted off the bed, meeting Roman halfway as his toes curled. “Roman… Roman, I…!”_

_ Roman’s hands were shaking were they gripped Patton’s. He almost looked exhausted, if not for the blissful “oh” from his lips when Patton thrust into him. His eyelashes fluttered, his head tipped back as he moaned again. Patton was almost relieved at the sight. He looked happy. He looked pleased. That’s all Patton wanted. That’s all he could really ask for._

_ “Alright?” Patton asked, his breathing stuttering as Roman’s looked down at him through a wave of curls. Roman pushed the hair from his eyes and smiled, and Patton sighed at the sight. “Are you…” he caught his breath and grabbed Roman’s hips. “Are you alright?”_

_ “It’s distant,” Roman said, a little breathless. “Not far, but distant. Like a dream. But so good. Oh, angel, it feels _incredible_…”_

_ “Oh, Roman… I’m… I’m so close—”_

_ “Come on, then,” Roman asked. His voice was almost desperate. Patton looked up at him, and Roman ducked down to kiss him quickly. “Come for me.”_

_ Heat coiled in his stomach, ready to snap. His legs drew up, his hips stuttering as his spine arched. Catching his breath, Patton’s could only shape the sound of Roman’s name as he came, gasping and trembling, through orgasm. Lightning danced across his skin, warmth flooded his limbs, and streaks of light spread across the back of his eyelids he thrust once, twice, and fell back against the bed, boneless and awestruck._

_ He was sweaty. He was sticky. Roman didn’t mind. He simply lifted himself off Patton and laid down next to him. He felt a little like jelly. He blinked, a little dazed as he stared up at the ceiling. When Roman reached out to brush a knuckle against his cheek, Patton turned to look at him._

_ Roman raised his eyebrows, as if waiting for something. Patton swallowed and fumbled at the sheets. Eventually, he reached for the tissues next to the bed, cleaning himself off before handing the tissue to Roman. Roman waved a hand, and the mess was gone. Patton looked away. _

_ “Angel?” He said, soft and unsure. “You… look at me? Please, look at me?” Patton did, his eyes slowly working up Roman’s bare legs to his chest to his face. Roman’s lips were a thin line as he gave Patton a long look. “What’s wrong?”_

_ “I don’t know,” Patton murmured, his hands a little shaky. He looked around the basement, a little lost. “I don’t… I think I want a drink.” Roman’s face fell, and Patton held his hands up in surrender. “But I don’t! I do, but… I don’t.” He shifted on the bed, laying on his side to face Roman, reaching out tentatively. Roman took his hand and laced their fingers together. Patton sighed. “I love you.”_

_ “And I love you,” Roman smiled, “With every fiber of my being.”_

_ “I know.” Patton looked at their hands for a moment, tightening his grip a bit. “And I… shouldn’t have been afraid. I shouldn’t have run off yesterday.”_

_ “I scared you away, didn’t I?” Roman asked quietly, his words hardly more than a whisper. “I came on too strong.”_

_ “Well, you’ve been waiting for forty years,” Patton conceded, “I just couldn’t face the facts.”_

_ “Even so,” Roman murmured. “Where did you go yesterday? You came home in such a stupor.”_

_ Patton blinked, trying to think back, past the bar. But there was nothing. A vague, whirl of gray space where his memory should be. He sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted, scooting a little closer to Roman. Roman let him, reaching out to pass a hand through his hair in soft, reverent movements. Patton sighed, and frowned. “I don’t remember.”_

+++++

Roman lay in bed quietly, watching the way Patton sighed and shifted as he slept. Maybe he was dreaming of something. Something good, hopefully. He had too many nightmares, in Roman’s opinion. It was something that always frustrated him.

If he were a ghost, he would be able to interrupt those dreams. He could claw his way into Patton’s subconscious and make himself at home there, banishing any and all nightmares and replacing his dreams with soft, comforting thoughts. If he were a ghost, could fade into Patton and simply _be _in his thoughts. Just a reminder of how much he was loved.

But then… he wouldn’t be able to kiss Patton.

Close, but not close enough. Far, but no way to bridge the gap. It was a confining existence. One that left Roman more than a little numb. But he loved what he was. If he wasn’t a wraith, if he wasn’t _physical_, he wouldn’t be able to card his hand through Patton’s hair like this. He wouldn’t be able to lean down and kiss his temple. He wouldn’t be able to lay with him in bed, unable to sleep or dream, but able to hold him and touch him.

Patton woke up abruptly, his eyes shooting open as he sat up, awake and wide-eyed as he looked around the room. Roman snagged his wrist, gently bringing him back down to the sheets as Patton took a breath and looked at him.

“I’m here,” Roman said, a soft, kind promise that always, without fail, put Patton at ease. True to form, Patton relaxed against the pillows, letting out a sigh of relief as he turned into Roman’s arms and held him close. Roman smiled and pulled him flush against his chest. “I’ve got you, darling.”

Patton’s voice was soft. Afraid. “Do you remember the first time we…”

Roman blinked slowly. Where was this going? “I do. Vividly. Why, angel?”

“The day before, I left the house. I ran off… because I was afraid to face that I was… well, I was in love with you.” Roman frowned but didn’t interrupt. Patton wasn’t finished. He knew that much, at least. And when Patton spoke, it was careful and slow, like the words were made of honey, taking their time to be delivered. “I think… that day, I might have…”

Roman fought to remain corporeal. His body shifted, his mind raced. His heart – still, dead, and cold – felt oddly constricted. “You think you _did _go out with Rachel.”

Patton curled closer to him. “I liked it better… when you were my first.”

“First, second, thirtieth… does it matter, darling?” Roman felt the pang of jealousy and hurt in his chest, but he smothered it down with reasoning. Patton loved him. He loved Patton. It was clear in every action, every word, every _movement_ of themselves. “What we have is more than a lapse in judgement.”

He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “I… I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to…” Patton shook his head, pulled back, and squinted at Roman through sleep-blurry eyes. “Sleeping with Rachel was a mistake.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t _want _her.”

Roman nodded. “I know.”

Patton hid against his chest and murmured, “But it doesn’t change that it _happened_… and I forgot. I forgot and Charlotte came, and it hurt you—”

“You were blackout drunk, darling,” Roman traced a finger up and down Patton’s spine slowly. “I’d be impressed if you managed to remember any of that without prompting.”

“I wish I could have told you,” Patton insisted, gentle and apologetic. “I wish I could have been honest with you.”

“You were, angel. As honest as you could have been.” Roman kissed his forehead, his cheeks, and then his lips. Patton sighed under the attention, throwing his arms around Roman and holding loosely as they kissed, soft and slow. “And I love you. I love you, and that’s _never _going to change.”

Patton smiled and took a breath, just about to reply, but someone knocked on the front door. Patton shifted, sitting up to look at the clock. It was nearly eight in the morning. Logan and Virgil were most likely in bed. Eight o'clock on a Saturday morning... an unfortunate time for _anyone_ to die. But death kept food on the table, so Roman couldn't exactly complain.

Fading away to the incorporeal plane, Roman came back to stand against the wall with a smile, watching Patton pull a clean, knit sweater and head for the stairs. He followed, as he always did. Roman slipped through the floor, glaring at the door when the visitor knocked again, harder this time. Patton dusted off the front of his sweater, smoothed the khaki trousers that were wrinkled from being slept in, and answered the door.

He went rigid, looking at the visitor with wide, alarmed eyes. The deputy nodded politely, his hands on his belt as he gave Patton a long, hard look. Then, he gestured to the car in the driveway.

“G’morning. I’m Officer O’Bryan. Is that your car, sir?”

Patton’s mouth gaped, opening and closing without sound. Roman came to his rescue, stepping up behind Patton and putting an arm around his waist as he smiled at the officer and said, “Good morning, Officer! Can we help you?”

The officer gave Roman a stiff look before gruffly saying, “Does that car belong to either of you?”

“Why, it belongs to the owner of the mortuary,” Roman said matter-of-factly. Against him, Patton leaned back and away Officer O’Bryan. Roman’s hand on his hip tightened, keeping him in place. Whatever this officer wanted, it wasn’t a routine check-up on vehicles. Something was wrong. He looked suspicious. Roman kept up his bright, enthusiastic expression as he said, “Mr. Stein. Why?”

O’Bryan glanced down at the notebook in his hand. “We’re working the Amanda Cole case.”

Patton flinched at that and Roman hoped O’Bryan didn’t notice as he nodded and cooed theatrically, “Poor girl… I just read about her in the paper. Have there been any breaks in the case?”

There was a distinct pause where O’Bryan glanced at Roman and Patton. Then, he tucked his notebook away and folded his hands together. “Is Mr. Stein home?”

“Yes,” Patton said, his voice a breathy gasp. “He’s… is something wrong?”

“We have an eye-witness report that a vehicle of this make and model was seen leaving the area where Amanda Cole’s body was found near the time of death.” If Roman had been alive, his heart would’ve seized. Against him, Patton held his breath. Officer O’Bryan looked at them, scrutinizing every facial reaction and body language response. “Can either of you tell me where Mr. Stein was on the night of October 1st?”

Ah. There it was. The other shoe that had been waiting to drop.

They were getting pinned for murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to jail we go.  
Just kidding, haha... unless?
> 
> I'm on tumblr @ misplaced-my-notes.  
See you next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

Logan’s hands were neatly folded atop a cool, sterile metal tabletop. The officer sitting across from him watched his movements; each breath, each blink, each tilt of his head was scrutinized and evaluated. They were looking for guilt, but Logan wouldn’t give way.

They had come in the morning, Logan’s least favorite time of day. He was, unfortunately, asleep when Officer O’Bryan knocked on the door. He’d been awoken by Patton who was in a fit of panic. They had information that no one should have had. His car being seen so far outside of town? Preposterous. Any eyewitness claiming he had been in the area? Ridiculous.

Yes, he killed Amanda Cole. Yes, he had deposited her body in that ditch. And yes, he was lying by feigning innocence. But this crime, this murder… it had been an act of mercy. It was a moral gray-area as far as he was concerned. If he had left Amanda to her devices, she would’ve never been able to survive as a human being. If she went out in the moonlight, she would’ve been a feral, vicious monster. He _couldn’t _have let her leave the mortuary alive. She was in no way a perfect ghoul.

Thomas had been a perfect ghoul. He had complete control of his changing. He didn’t _have _to become a monster… and he had sworn-off any type of nether-interference from therein. Amanda Cole hadn’t been given that kindness. She was a victim. Releasing her soul from that cage of a body was a kind of merciful euthanasia.

Not that Logan would ever admit to such a thing.

Despite his denials, Logan had been asked to come down to the station. He’d complied, of course. Humans became unnecessarily tetchy when they weren’t immediately obeyed, and he’d rather avoid incapacitating a police officer when he was under investigation. He would, despite all inclination not to, behave cordially.

Officer Michaels opened his file and looked down at the papers. He was trying to unnerve Logan. To scare him into talking. It wasn’t going to work. Logan blinked slowly, listening outside the room. There were ringing phones down the hall. The shuffle of feet. Patton’s voice, far away and soft against Roman’s murmuring tenor. Behind the reflective glass of the interrogation room, the other officers didn’t speak. They were watching, too. Logan didn’t react.

“Mr. Stein,” Officer Michaels said thinly. He looked up, and Logan saw distrust in his eyes. “Is that your legal name?”

Logan nodded. “It is.”

Officer Michaels continued to frown, his eyes sharp as he searched Logan’s expression. There was nothing to give him away. “Where were you the night of October 1st?”

Logan blinked. “As I told Officer O’Bryan, I was at home, in my mortuary.”

Officer Michaels closed the folder and slid it aside. “We have eyewitness testimony that says otherwise.”

Checking his watch, Logan sighed. “I find that doubtful.”

The officer sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Am I _boring you, _Mr. Stein?”

“You’re wasting your time, Officer.” Logan lifted his eyes sharply, his hands still relaxed on the table as he raised his chin and said, “I was at home, working in the body prepping room on the night of the first. Any ‘testimony’ stated otherwise is falsified.”

“Can anyone verify your whereabouts?”

“My partner,” Logan said sternly. “Virgil.”

Officer Michaels took the folder back and wrote this down. “Anyone else?”

“My assistant, Mr. Jenkins, as well as his partner, Mr. Prince.”

Officer Michaels tapped his pen against the folder several times. “That car you own… an old mustang, isn’t it?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. What on earth was he playing at? “Yes, it is. I bought it used, five years ago.”

“Nobody else in town has a car registered under that model,” Officer Michaels looked at Logan. “And _your car _was seen driving toward the area where Amanda Cole’s body was found.”

“An interesting coincidence.”

Officer Michaels looked irked by that (did he think Logan could crack and confess?) and flipped a paper over, reading the false records Logan had made for himself when he appeared in town. “Says here that you came to town five years ago.” Logan didn’t respond. He didn’t see the need to. Michaels glanced up at him. “Where were you before this?”

“My parents were missionaries,” Logan lied smoothly. “We traveled eastern Europe. I decided to take my interest in anatomy and put it to practice.”

“As a mortician.”

Logan didn’t react. “The human body is a fascinating thing.”

Folding his hands together, Officer Michaels gave Logan a long, hard look. “On paper, there’s no record of you before that.” As Logan had made it. It was by design. That seemed to intrigue Michaels more than it stumped him. “According to the paperwork, before five years ago, you didn’t even exist.”

Logan didn’t move. He didn’t twitch or break eye-contact. In fact, he felt a little smug. Officer Michaels was grasping at straws. He _knew _they didn’t have hard evidence on them. He _knew _they only had enough conjecture to bring Logan in for questioning. He was wildly clawing at Logan in hopes he would somehow hit pay dirt.

There was a long, considerable pause.

“Mr. Stein,” Officer Michaels said stiffly. He knew that Logan wasn’t going to crack. And yet, he remained. “I think you need to know that this is a high-priority case for our department.”

“I’m aware.”

“So you realize we aren’t going to pull any punches when it comes to finding _exactly_ who murdered these innocent kids.”

Logan blinked slowly. “Then _you_ need to understand that I will not admit to a murder I didn’t commit, Officer.”

Leaning forward, Michaels said, “Our best men are on this. We _will _find who is responsible.”

Logan blinked. His expression didn’t waver one iota. Officer Michaels grew a little desperate, taking a picture from the file and slapping it down in front of Logan. It seemed he was done playing nice. What was it that Virgil said? ‘Good-cop and bad-cop’ or some such nonsense.

Michaels spread the pictures from the file in front of Logan. Logan looked down. It was Amanda Cole. Pale face, blonde hair, wrapped in linen and eyes closed. Peaceful, just as Logan remembered leaving her. Another photo showed the odd angle of her broken neck, along with the bruising that bloomed around her shoulders. Logan frowned, feigning discomfort.

“What is this?” He asked unnecessarily. Michaels slammed his palm on the table.

“_This _is Amanda Cole. She was nineteen! She had her whole life ahead of her!”

Logan gave him a withering look. “Are you trying to frighten a confession out of me, Officer Michaels? Because it will be a fruitless endeavor. _I did not kill Amanda Cole_.”

Michaels opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something, then his jaw clicked shut. It worked furiously, the vein on his neck pounding as he thought. Logan felt his stomach twist; it had been almost a day since his last drink. Officer Michaels was pushing his luck.

Before Logan could spring over the table and lunge for him, the officer turned and made for the door. He left Logan sitting in the small room, quiet and listening to the heavy breaths of the people behind the two-way glass. It was supposed to be an informal questioning… but perhaps Logan should have hired a lawyer.

His temper flared when he heard the door of the next room open… along with Officer Michaels escorting Virgil inside. He heard Virgil’s tell-tale fidgeting with his zipper, his anxiety clear as he sat down. The metal chairs scrapped along hardwood as they sat.

“Virgil, right? Don’t be nervous,” Officer Michaels said, his voice calm and friendly. A lie to keep Virgil compliant. Logan glared at the tabletop. “I’ve just got some routine questions to clear things up.”

Virgil’s voice was quiet, gruff, and irritable. “Sure, I… _Jesus_ it’s bright in here.” Pages fluttered. Sounds were lost beneath the din of the police station… and then Virgil spoke again, “Hey, uh… Logan… Logan isn’t your guy. Trust me. I know him.”

Logan softened at that, his anger assuaged for just a moment. Then Officer Michaels spoke.

“You know him, huh? How long have you two been together?”

Virgil hesitated. “Uh… almost two months now.”

Michaels hummed thoughtfully. “That’s not a long time.”

Virgil’s voice was sharp when he said, “Seriously, it’s _really _fuckin’ bright in here.”

Poor Virgil… with eyes changed to see well in the dark, they were ill-equipped to face the fluorescents glaring down at him. Even so, Logan stayed seated and race to his rescue. No other officers came to excuse him. He wanted to see where Michaels was going to go with his picky questioning. Hopefully, Virgil wouldn’t back them into a corner. No, no… Logan had more faith in him than that. Virgil knew that this situation, like many before them, had to be dealt with carefully… with just the right amount of pressure.

A table creaked. Maybe Michaels leaned on it. Maybe he stood. Either way, Logan listened carefully as he said, “Two months isn’t that long, Virgil. And with the evidence we have here, it’s not lookin’ so hot for Logan.” Logan twitched; that wasn’t true. Virgil didn’t seem convinced either. He didn’t respond, and Michaels tried to stress Logan’s guilt. “An eye-witness can vouch for his being in the area on the night Amanda Cole disappeared. His car was seen heading to the drop-site. Virgil,” Michaels said softly, “Can you tell me where Logan was on the night of October 1st?”

There was no hesitation. “He was with me.”

Michaels wasn’t satisfied. “What did you do that evening?”

“Each other,” Virgil snapped, sounding more than a little defensive. “Look, I get what you’re saying, but Logan is _not _your guy. Your eyewitness is bullshitting you.”

Logan squinted; he and Virgil weren’t romantically involved when he killed Amanda and put her out of her misery. Virgil was lying on several different accounts. Hopefully, these lies would be beneficial. He’d like to keep his fingerprints out of any database.

“The witness that came to us was scared,” Officer Michaels said softly. Ah, he was trying to play on sympathies. An interesting tactic. Virgil remained quiet, and Michaels was gentle as he said, “Apparently Logan threatened her.” Again, Virgil stayed silent. “Virgil, has Logan ever threatened you?”

There was a pause, just a fraction of thought that struck Logan right between his ribs like a gunshot before Virgil grumbled, “No.”

“Has he ever been violent?”

Logan’s hands clenched atop the table. Virgil huffed. “No, he’s… I mean, he’s got a temper? But he’s getting better at it.”

“A temper,” Michaels repeated. “Can you explain?”

Virgil’s chair scraped along the woodwork floor… and he sighed. “It’s just so bright in here. I mean, doesn’t this hurt your eyes?”

“No, it doesn’t. Virgil. Kid, c’mon, look at me,” Michaels said sternly. There was a pause, theoretically a moment of time where Virgil turned to look at him, and Michaels said, “Has Logan ever gotten _physical_ with his temper?”

There was a pause. Logan bowed his head, more bereft than angry. Virgil’s voice was quiet as he asked, “Do I need a fucking lawyer?”

“I don’t know,” Michaels’ voice was crisp through the noise of the station and Logan hated every ring of his words. “That depends on whether or not you’ve done anything wrong.”

+++++

An hour brushed past slowly, like an old friend that stopped for a chat but didn’t want to linger too long. They didn’t know you that well anyway. They left in a hurry, but not enough to assume they hate you. Just quick enough for you to linger on the hour… just enough for you to regret the time that passed. Just enough for Roman to feel ill at ease.

It was Saturday morning and getting Virgil and Logan to the police station was no easy feat. They were expected, however, and couldn’t brush off an invitation from police officers. So Logan and Virgil had been smuggled into the car… and Patton had driven them. Roman had come along because… oh, good _Lord _what _was _Roman doing here?

The last time he’d been in a police station, it had been the 1870’s. His mothers’ purse had been snatched on the street. They’d gone to make a report. They had complained. Made a scene. His mother had wailed and sobbed and clutched her pearls as she nearly resorted to a swoon. In the end, she was reimbursed for her trouble by an officer that wanted to avoid her tear-streaked rage.

Times had changed. There were telephones on each desk. Ringing and movement and paper and _voices_… and not a bit of cigarette smoke to be seen. It was dirty, but not filthy. Clean, but not spotless. Roman sat in a plush chair next to Patton, his legs crossed languidly as he watched officers dart to and fro across the room.

He had to hold Patton’s hand. He had to, of course, because Patton was scratching at his fingernails again. He’d already made two fingers bleed and while gray-red blood could be overlooked from a distance, handfuls of the stuff was sure to draw attention. So he held Patton’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand every so often, just to comfort him.

That comfort didn’t go far.

She appeared like a port in a storm. This is to say that everything around her was gray, the air around her was cold, but she was lit up and the center of Roman’s attention, untouchable but desirable all the same. He stood up when she walked through the doors, his face drawn into a scowl long before Patton even saw her.

“Miss Fields,” Roman greeted her as she walked in, all perfect, brown curls and bright eyes. She looked at him, curious, before she saw Patton. Her mouth opened, like she was about to greet him, but Roman cut her off. “I’d thank you to keep your distance.”

Charlotte blinked spastically, her eyelashes fluttering prettily. “Excuse me?”

“I think the poor man has been through enough,” Roman snapped as Patton stood up and wrung his hands. He looked between the two of them anxiously, his hazel eyes reflected oddly in Charlotte’s.

“Roman, I…”

Charlotte smiled as she adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “You’re awfully protective of him.”

“Of course.” Roman raised his chin. “He’s the love of my afterlife.”

Her smiled dropped as her brow furrowed. “Your… afterli—”

Roman’s intuition flashed as he narrowed his eyes. “I’m _dead, _Miss Fields.” Charlotte took a startled step back, and Patton almost reached out to comfort her… Roman held him back with a gentle hand on his elbow. His voice dripped with venom as he murmured, “Miss Fields. Dear, _dear_ Miss Fields… what is your game?”

At that, Charlotte cracked another brilliant smile. Oh, that damn smile… he could see Patton in that smile. It gave her away from the dimples in her cheeks to the glittering in her eyes. It was Patton. Patton and his progeny shining through. It almost burned.

“My game?”

“You don’t _know _us,” Roman said gently as he stepped forward to speak in low, private tones. Charlotte didn’t back away. In fact, she looked up at Roman with a tired smile. Roman went on, “You don’t know _what _we are or _why_ we’re here… you don’t know anything about the lives we lead or why we lead them. So why accuse Logan of murder? What do you get from it? What do you gain?”

There was a moment where Charlotte simply looked up at him. Tired. Defeated. Roman felt oddly discomforted by the sight… it was like looking at himself in the mirror. The defeat of death hanging in him. The knowledge that he was, in essence, nothing but a trapped, wayward spirit. But Charlotte was different. Charlotte was alive. Alive and lying.

Wasn’t she?

“Honestly? Not really sure why I’m here. I guess I’m just crossing stuff off the bucket list,” Charlotte said, her tone soft and trembling. She looked past Roman, catching Patton’s eye and holding as she smiled a bit. “I didn’t think I’d actually find you. I figured I’d find some tombstone or… unmarked grave or something.”

Patton’s hands twisted in his cardigan as he choked out, “O-oh…”

Charlotte shrugged, as if it didn’t really matter. “I mean… I always knew… something was off. _Something_. Mom was… different. On nights with the moon out. They chalked it up to some sort of schizophrenia or personality discorder… but that wasn’t it, was it?” She looked at Patton, and Patton went a little pale. Charlotte smiled. “You’re something else. So was she. And I guess I am, too. We’re just a bunch of monsters, huh?”

While Patton visibly recoiled from the word, Roman flared up and between him and Charlotte, making himself a physical roadblock. “How _dare_ you speak of him that way,” he couldn’t raise his voice. Not now. Not in this day and age. Instead, he was low and calculated as he said, “Patton is one of the most _glorious_ creatures to walk this earth. An angel among men and a saint among sinners.”

Charlotte cocked her head to the side. “And I’m his granddaughter. What does that make me?”

Before Roman could spit something scalding, Virgil and Logan stepped back into view. They saw Charlotte and their reactions were instantaneous. While Virgil fixed her with a burning, dark glower, Logan simply raised a thoughtful, interested eyebrow. What on _earth _was that reaction?

The officer that followed them looked at Charlotte, his gaze jumping between her and Logan. If Roman didn’t know better, the poor man was desperately trying to think of a way to keep them apart. Their ‘anonymous’ witness meeting their suspected killer? A volatile meeting, indeed.

Lucky for them and the officer, Logan was admittedly smarter than that. He wouldn’t make a scene accusing Charlotte, scolding her and denouncing her… no, Logan had grown. He wasn’t nearly so prickly. He was still obnoxious, yes… but violent? No, not since Virgil.

“Miss Fields,” Logan said calmly, like he was amused by this turn of events. “What a surprise, seeing you here, of all places.”

Charlotte actually _did _look surprised to see him… perhaps she thought he’d be behind bars already. Roman stepped back, putting an arm around Patton’s shoulders as Charlotte picked her words carefully. “Yep. Just came back follow-up with some concerns I had.”

Logan nodded sagely. Next to him, Virgil was bristling; it looked like he was a half-second away from jumping Charlotte. Roman narrowed his eyes interestingly; when did _this _happen? Virgil was the protective, violent one and Logan was the calm, stoic one? Surely, it had been the opposite, once upon a time. When had that been? Oh, sometime in August, surely…

“Mr. Stein?” The officer behind them said, a little crossly. Logan turned to give him a cold stare, and the officer muttered, “Don’t leave town.”

Apparently this meant something to Logan because he frowned and nodded stiffly. Then, he looked at Patton and nodded subtly. Roman let out a breath of relief. They were leaving. Finally. The less they saw of Charlotte, the better.

“If you’ll excuse us, Miss Fields,” Logan said calmly. The words had a distance to them, like it was an answering machine picking up her message. Charlotte looked disappointed as Logan and Virgil skirted past her. “We have some work to do.”

“Sure,” Charlotte muttered. When Patton and Roman turned to leave, however, she gave Patton a little wave on a quiet, “Bye!” Patton, to his credit, didn’t wave back.

Roman didn’t blame him. Not even one bit.

The drive home was quiet; a drive full of loud, loud silence. The kind that made Roman’s ears ring as he searched for something to fill the air. The rumble of the engine was a gentle purr. The static on the radio was hushed. Logan and Virgil were quiet where they lay in the backseat, avoiding the sun. Logan had Virgil atop him, cradled to his chest as he stared up at the ceiling of the car angrily. Their eyes were dark and expressions somber. Roman sighed and pivoted to look back at them.

“Come now… it can’t all be horrible,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “Look at this. We’re going home! Isn’t that good?”

Logan frowned. “They have no one else to blame, Roman. They _need _someone to be the culprit, and right now, a jury would be ready to hang the closest thing to a suspect.”

Virgil was quiet as he grumbled, “They don’t hang people anymore.”

“I was being figurative,” Logan shot back. They looked at each other, held that stare for a moment, then looked away. Roman quirked an eyebrow; interesting. Logan sighed. “At best, I have a day before they start looking for reasons to arrest me in earnest.”

In the drivers’ seat, Patton squirmed. “She… Charlotte, I mean… why would she… why was she there? At the station?”

Virgil’s nose wrinkled. “She smelled weird.”

Roman gave him an odd look, but surprisingly, he was the only one confused by this statement. Logan gave a knowing nod and Patton pursed his lips as he said, “Yeah… yeah, I guess she did. Familiar. Just can’t… put my finger on it.”

“Dust?” Virgil said, looking at the rear-door windows that were covered in fabric to keep Logan and Virgil from burning. He laid his head back on Logan’s chest. “Maybe… dirt. Nah, not dirt. Or… some sort of… I don’t know, old people smell.”

“You don’t know it?” Logan asked, more baffled than anything. Patton glanced in the rearview mirror… and looked back to the road. Roman put a hand on his thigh, squeezing a little. Patton cracked a smile, but still seemed troubled. Against Logan, Virgil tilted his head back to give him a confused look. Logan’s brow knitted thoughtfully. “I can’t fathom the fact that you don’t recognize it. If not you, Virgil, then Patton, at the very least…”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Oh for heaven’s sake, stop being conceited and just _tell us_.”

“It was death,” Logan said softly, his voice echoing oddly in the car. Nothing wild happened. Patton didn’t gasp. The car didn’t stop. Roman looked at him, and Patton simply seemed… resigned. Like he knew this was coming. The ultimate endgame. “She smelled like death. The kind deep beneath the skin.”

“She’s dying,” Patton said, almost like he needed to convince himself. For a long moment, everyone was quiet. The words lingered, and Patton didn’t seem sad. In fact, he almost looked… relieved. Then, guilt settled in and he frowned to himself. Roman pat his knee comfortingly.

“So she’s going down, and… what? She’s taking us with her?” Virgil asked, frustration clear in his tone as he tugged at Logan’s tie. “What the hell does she _get _from this?”

“Probably nothing,” Logan said softly as he took his tie from Virgil’s grip and smoothed it. His words were heavy with experience as he said, “The walls are closing in… and wanting for _something_ is too much. Now… now, she wants _nothing_. Even if that means getting rid of us.”

“But you didn’t even do anything to her,” Virgil muttered angrily.

Roman glanced at Patton, putting a hand on his shoulder. Patton looked at him from the corner of his eye, and Roman repeated Virgil’s words, “You didn’t do anything wrong, darling.”

“I know,” Patton said, quiet and thoughtful as he drove them home. “But that won’t stop me from blaming myself, sugarcane.”

+++++

1938 – Duluth, Minnesota

_Patton liked Minnesota. Really, he enjoyed any place what wasn’t North Dakota and that nameless little town where they’d hidden. That nameless little bar where he drank. And the nameless, lifeless moments he had wasted there… well. That wasn’t quite fair._

_ North Dakota hadn’t been _completely _terrible to him. He had, after all, spent valuable time there. He confronted his feelings for Roman. He confessed… not only to Roman, but to himself. And it felt good. Freeing, in some special way. And it was a miracle that despite their obvious romantic involvement, Logan made no move to separate them._

_ Maybe it was because Patton had become more compliant. He wasn’t coming home drunk anymore, no longer stank of whiskey, and was more personable with their clientele. He liked the new pace his life took. A slow, calm one in the dead of winter. It was cold. Frigid and harsh in a way he hadn’t expected. But there, in Duluth, Patton reclaimed something that he’d lost: comfort._

_ He found it in Roman in the dark, cold nights wrapped together in mountains of blankets. He found it when he stoked a fire in the fireplace and drank cocoa by the light. He found it when Roman sang to him, something soft and warbling that seemed to elegant to be effortless. He loved it, this new, sober life. Perhaps ‘living’ wasn’t so bad after all._

_ “Never got snow like this on the farm,” Patton said with a smile as he looked out the window. The roads were blocked. Snow drifts mounted up and up until they were threatening the glass. It would be a quiet day… not that Patton minded. Any slow day was a day he could spend in Roman’s private company._

_ The man in question was lounging against the sofa with a troubled look on his face that only _Roman_ could manage. One that spelled dramatic, aristocratic distress… but nothing so terrible it couldn’t be erased with a few intimate words._

_ “You say that like it’s a _good _thing, angel,” Roman pursed his lips and disappeared from the sofa. He flickered back into existence behind Patton, his arms around Patton’s middle and chin perched on his shoulder. Patton smiled, leaned into him, and roman let out a blissful sigh. “Oh, but I do like this… curled together in front of the fire. Letting the word go white and soft around us… the hush of snowfall as you take me to bed…”_

_ Patton felt his face burn as he laughed and hid his face in his hands. He was always saying things like that. Inappropriate, _wonderful_ things. Things that sounded so perfect, so good… it almost scared Patton. It almost seemed like it would slip away, right under his fingers. Like if he didn’t hold on, if he didn’t _feel _it all enough, it would be gone and he’d never be able to recall it._

_ Roman kissed the nape of his neck, his cold, cold lips lingering long enough to give Patton goosebumps as he shivered. “Darling, any moment spent with you is more magical than _any _‘White_ _Christmas.’”_

_ “You say that to all the pretty boys,” Patton murmured happily. Outside, the snow fell heavy and slow, as if the world was in slow motion and content with letting gravity loose for a moment._

_ “Just one,” Roman promised. “Just you.”_

_ Letting out a long, peaceful breath, Patton leaned his head against Roman’s. His hair tickled Patton’s cheek. His smile was pressed into his skin. Patton closed his eyes. “I love you.”_

_ “And I, you. So very, very much… have I said it enough? I can repeat it,” Roman said, almost sounding eager. “I can say it a thousand times. A million. And then a million more!” There was a laugh in his voice, but sincerity that rang so true, it almost ached. “As many times as you like.”_

_ Patton swallowed thickly; Emily had promised so many things like that. She had promised that she loved him. She had said she wanted him, and then… no. No, Roman was different. Roman was…_

_ Roman was…_

_ “You’ll always be here, won’t you?” Patton said, a little nervous as he held Roman’s arms around him. Against him, Roman stiffened and held a little tighter. “Promise you’ll never go.”_

_ “Never,” Roman promised readily without a hint of hesitation. He kissed Patton’s cheek, his skin as cold as the snow that trapped them inside. Patton’s teeth threatened to chatter, but he clenched his jaw as Roman nuzzled his cheek. “Not until you send me away.”_

+++++

Logan was a man of niche interests. For a time, he was a fan of poetic opera. When that lost its draw, he’d delved into obscure magic. When magic failed to entice him (or flow as elegantly as his mother’s magic) he turned to science. And science had yet to lose its magnetic tug. It had neater rules than magic. Rules for action and inaction. Logic and reason were unbeatable, finite law. Logan thoroughly enjoyed that. He liked having human realism mean something. He liked to think, for a moment, and if nether-creatures _did_ rise up, science would be their undoing.

This was a farcical dream at best. Chimerical at the least.

Magic could never lose it science. It warped the rules. Tamed reality like a woman tame Strength. It was frustrating to no end, this tangled web of nether-magic and schemes.

Even so, Logan found himself stepping back into Emile Picani’s herbal remedy shop.

He nearly doubled-over at the strength of Emile’s herbs — a nice blend that put a damper on coherent thought and malcontent — but remained upright with a rigid spine. At the front desk, Remy was slouched over his phone with a bored expression. He saw Logan, perked up, then frowned.

“Where’s Virgil?” There was no ‘hello’ or ‘welcome.’ It seemed Remy was not one for hospitality. Not that Logan minded. Polite chitchat and social greetings weren’t the most pressing things on his mind. He stepped forward, his hands leaning heavily on the desk as Remy looked at him oddly. “You look like hell.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow. “I’m twenty-four hours away from being arrested for murder.”

“Hot,” Remy drawled with a bored expression. He glanced at the door and then back to Logan. “Seriously... where’s Virgil? You two are partially attached at the hip nowadays.”

“That’s not true. Virgil can go anywhere he wants.”

Remy’s eye-roll was visible through his glasses. “Yeah, as long as he’s with you. Yada yada. You romantic people must have it rough.”

“I do _not_ control where Virgil goes,” Logan growled, his patience wearing thin. “Where is your uncle? I would like to make a purchase.”

Remy made an odd face. “He’s in the back, messing with his experiments. Why do you—" Logan ignored him and stepped around the desk. Remy baulked and nearly fell off his stool. “Hey! You can’t—"

With a flick of his wrist, Logan snatched Remy’s glasses from his face and looked him in the eye. There was a pulse there. A tug in those golden eyes that made Logan yearn for a time before; a time before complications and worries. Magic was there. Glimmering in gold-spun irises that went wide under his gaze. There, Logan planted a seed of thought. A calmness. A wash of serenity that seemed to make Remy’s expression go a little numb.

“I mean you no harm,” Logan said, as gentle as he could muster. Remy didn’t blink. The connection wavered. Logan set the sunglasses on the countertop. “I apologize for my directness. I’m in a great hurry.”

“Yeah,” Remy choked out. He looked queasy. His knees were nearly knocking. Logan gestured to the stool, and Remy sat back down with a thoroughly shaken expression. “Yeah. Hurry.”

Stepping into the back room, Logan saw Emile kneading something on the worktable against the wall. He looked focused, but readily acknowledged Logan as he stood in the doorway.

“Welcome, Mr. Stein. Don’t be shy,” Emile said softly. He nodded to the round table Logan had sat at days before. “Take a seat.”

Logan did. Emile worked. Logan fidgeted with his hands. He should have brought Virgil. But if he brought Virgil, there would be no chance for plausible deniability. No, he had to do this alone. At least, for now.

After two solid minutes, Emile spoke again. “Is there any reason you needed to charm my nephew?”

Logan twitched. “I wasn’t aware you noticed.”

“It was a jolt,” Emile said softly, almost like he was unconcerned. But there was an edge there. An unease. “In my own shop, that kind of magic doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s... old magic. Very old.”

“I’m rusty,” Logan admitted. “Truthfully, I’ve avoided magic for many years.”

“Any particular reason for that?”

“It’s uninteresting.”

“I’ve got the time.”

Logan felt pressed. He felt trapped. And yet, he couldn’t just up and leave. Not yet. “I need to make a purchase, Mr. Picani.”

Finally, Emile turned away from his worktable. The surface was covered in something resembling clay or dough. Logan knew better. He looked away. Emile wiped his hands on his apron that was old and stained, his eyes glinting oddly in the low light of the backroom. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t frown either. He simply looked thoughtful.

“You know what, Mr. Stein?”

Logan looked at him. “No, I don’t.”

“I think you’re a very damaged man.”

Logan blinked slowly. “An astute statement. Now, my purchase…?”

“I think you’re running. Running from something, maybe some_one_.” Emile slowly took a seat at the table, his eyes glaring a deep, roiling gold as he gave Logan a pitying look. “Do you ever feel that way, Mr. Stein?”

With a churning stomach, Logan’s hands clenched atop the table. “I do. My purchase—”

“Mr. Stein.” Emile shuffled the tarot cards on the table. Logan held up a hand to decline the reading, but Emile didn’t mind him. He simply kept shuffling. “Go ahead,” he insisted. “It’s just something to do with my hands.”

Logan watched as the cards were spread. Emile flipped them, turned them, and spread them across the table… Logan didn’t take a card, and Emile shuffled again. Logan caught his eye and said, “I would like to purchase—”

“I know what you want, Mr. Stein,” Emile looked discomforted, like the purchase would make him queasy. “Please… please, tell me you’re not going to use Virgil as a scapegoat for the murders.”

“_No_!” Logan stood from his chair fast enough to make the table rattle. Emile lost his grip on the cards. Several fluttered to the ground. Logan refused to see which landed face-up. “I would _never_… Mr. Picani, if you see me as so degenerate that I would _replace _Virgil with some—"

Emile raised his hands in surrender. “I know what you _want _Mr. Stein, not what you want to _do _with it! Please. Please,” he gestured to the chair again, “Take a seat.” He waited, then added again, “Please.”

Reluctantly, Logan sat back down. Emile gathered his cards – The Emperor glared at Logan from his place in reverse -- and started to shuffle again. For a moment, they simply listened to the cards flutter and shuffle as Emile stared down at them. Logan braced his hands on the table.

“How soon could one be finished?” Logan asked after a minute. Emile pursed his lips and held out the cards to Logan. He sighed and took a card.

Judgement in reverse. Logan frowned.

Emile took it back and resumed shuffling. “That depends. If you don’t need it made in someone’s image, it can be done quickly. If not—”

“If I have someone in mind?” He asked, sharp and insistent. Emile held out the cards again. Logan didn’t bother to feign irritation when he picked one.

The Tower stood tall and proud. Emile took it back after an appreciative quirk of an eyebrow, going back to his shuffling. “I’ll need a lock of hair. Or blood. Either will do.”

Logan nodded, the knot in his stomach still tight with worry. “I can have something arranged.”

Emile looked at him, curious, before looking back at the cards. “You didn’t bring Virgil with you,” He set down a card. Temperance in the upright position. Logan softened at the sight. Emile gave him a knowing look. “You _couldn’t _bring him with you.”

“Deniability, Mr. Picani,” Logan assured him. “It’s all in deniability.”

With a smile that was more nervous than amused, Emile tapped his cards against the palm of one hand. “I heard about your trip to the police station. The whole town is buzzing about it.”

“Ah,” Logan sat back with a bored expression. “So now I’m a topic of gossip. Lovely.”

Emile smiled sadly. “People want closure. If the investigation results in _anything_, people want to know. It wasn’t just one girl that we lost to those… attacks.”

“I know,” Logan said, his voice gentle. The Hierophant stared up at him from the tabletop before Emile spirited him back into the deck. With a stern expression, Logan said, “I’d like to end this altercation without bloodshed.”

“I’d like that, too,” Emile said with a tired look that hid behind his glasses. “I’m sure the whole town would.”

“Mr. Picani,” Logan said sternly. The Wheel of Fortune was placed in front of him. He frowned… it was in reverse. He looked up at Emile to see anxiousness flicker through his expression. “Mr. Picani, I’d feel the need to tell you that once I am clear of the investigation, I shouldn’t trouble you again.”

Emile looked at him, his eyes narrowing perceptibly. “Why don’t you like magic, Mr. Stein?”

Logan blinked; this was a wild change in subject… but it wasn’t for nothing. Emile seemed genuinely curious. “I don’t… _dislike_ it.”

“Then the reason you’ve avoided it is…?”

Logan blinked slowly, his eyes on Emile’s glowing, golden eyes. He let his guard drop inch by careful inch. “My mother dabbled in magic.”

“Ah,” Emile nodded slowly. “And you don’t like her? Or…?”

“On the contrary,” Logan said gently. “Before her death, she was… a remarkable woman. Intelligent and fair. I would very much like to do her family name proud.”

The tarot cards were spread across the table with calm precision. The Wheel of Fortune was spun up in them… and swept away. “So you avoid magic to protect her legacy?”

“I avoid magic,” Logan said carefully, “To meld with human society.”

“Mr. Stein.” Emile placed a card in front of him. Judgement in reverse. Emile looked at him. “Are you ashamed of being a nether-creature?”

“No,” Logan said decisively. Emile raised his eyebrows, and Logan conceded with, “I’m ashamed of the actions I’ve taken.”

“With your mother?”

“With anyone,” Logan said, his shoulders heavy with regret, “With everyone.”

Emile was soft as he pressed more. “And with Virgil?”

“No,” Logan said stiffly, his brow furrowed with thought as he frowned. “No, I don’t… I don’t regret what I have with Virgil. If anything, Virgil has allowed me to see things from a more reasonable perspective.” He paused. “A more… _humane_ perspective.”

The cards were swept up, and this time, Emile didn’t put them back down. “And, from this new perspective, would agreeing to this purchase _really _be the right thing to do?”

“Yes,” Logan said sternly. Emile looked at him, and their eyes locked for several long, thoughtful seconds. Logan nodded to himself. “I just need one… no,” He paused, then said, “Two.”

Emile’s eyebrows shot up. “Two?”

“Two. One to deter the investigation and one,” Logan said, “For my assistant, Mr. Jenkins.”

It would do him good. It would provide Roman and Patton with the closure they so desperately desired, and Roman… well, it might give him a chance to feel _alive _again. Perhaps. If it didn’t all go pear-shaped before the investigation was tied with a neat bow. It was up in the air until Logan had all the details laid neatly in place.

Emile made a face. “I don’t… why would your assistant need a—don’t. Don’t tell me. Deniability, wasn’t it?” He shook his head and straightened his glasses with a tired smile. “I’ll stay in the dark for now, Mr. Stein.”

“Thank you,” Logan said as he stood and smoothed his tie.

There, he held out his hand for Emile to shake, and when their hands clasped, there was a brief, shocking moment where he felt cold. Cold… and then warm. A glimpse of his mother on the balcony of their home. A glimpse of England, long-gone and far-away beneath the rubble. Logan blinked, and Emile gave him a pitying look. He withdrew his hand.

“Please contact me when my purchase is ready,” Logan said as he stepped back into the shop. Remy gave him a distrusting look over the rim of his sunglasses, and a young couple stood pointing at the chakra poster on the wall. They paid him no attention as he headed for the door. “Thank you again, Mr. Picani.”

Emile’s eyes glittered when he smiled. “Merry meet, Mr. Stein.”

The bell above the door jingled behind him as he left, leaving Emile standing at the desk with stiff shoulders and a tense smile. Remy gave him an odd look.

“What the hell was that about?” He asked, his gaze flicking from his uncle, to the door, and back.

“Oh. Business,” Emile said with a calm tone. His eyes said something else entirely. Something that spelled trouble. Carefully, he placed a single tarot card on the countertop. Remy looked down at Justice in reverse. When he looked up, Emile wasn’t smiling. He looked dark and fitful, like a storm cloud had passed over his expression. “Don’t lose contact with Virgil.”

Remy snorted and took a sip of his iced coffee. “It’s gonna take a little more than one tarot reading to scare me. Give me a real divination, and _then_ I’ll start to worry.”

“You _know _it doesn’t have to be fancy to mean something, Rem.” Emile still watched the door, like Logan would come walking back through with a flurry of regret on his lips. He didn’t. Emile let out a long, shuddering breath. “Oh, fortuna…” he kissed Remy’s hair, “Bless this boy.”

Remy went stiff under the attention. “Oh-_kay_… what’s that for?”

“I just want you to stick close to the shop for the next few days, kiddo.” Emile slipped into the backroom once more. He rolled up his sleeves as his eyes regained their magical, hazy glow. It lit up the room as he said, “Something wicked this way comes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to Google what those Tarot cards mean.  
I'll wait.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @ misplaced-my-notes  
See you next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

It was early in the evening when Logan walked up the front steps and into the house. The spell from Mr. Picani was still pinned above the door and so far, it had protected their dwelling. If only they could have been so lucky in the police station.

He hung up his coat on the rack, walked upstairs, and found Patton at the stove, fiddling with a frying pan. Roman was off to the side, watching him with a stern, troubling glint in his eye.

“I’m back,” Logan said for some reason. Perhaps to break the tension. It didn’t make sense... why did it bother him? A few months ago, he would have walked to his room and gone to sleep without a second thought. Now, though... now, Patton was his friend and seeing him like this... seeing him flick the switch for the gas burner over and over... it was awkward. Borderline discomforting.

After a few more clicks of the burner, Patton huffed and said, “Can’t get... the darn thing to turn on!”

Logan gave the stove a look. He hadn’t much use for it. Neither did Patton. He didn’t eat normal food. Just raw meat and, on occasion, a cup of coffee if his stomach would handle it. Virgil wasn’t in the room, so it seemed odd that he’d be cooking for him... what was this about?

He looked to Roman for an answer, but Roman just shook his head. No assistance there.

“Are you making something?” Logan asked as he loosened his tie. Patton grumbled a bundle of consonants that didn’t want to form words. Well, not speaking English made this harder. Logan approached his bedroom door, just about to slip inside and excuse himself from the situation, when Patton turned around and shouted, “She came out of nowhere!”

Logan blinked. Charlotte? “Yes. Yes, she did.”

Patton wrung his hands, looking disgruntled as he paced the small kitchenette. “This... I mean, even if she is my granddaughter... even if we’re family, I don’t... why is she so...”

“Irresponsible?” Logan supplied, only to get a disregarding wave of Patton’s hand.

“She’s... she’s lying! About the whole car thing.” He looked at Logan helplessly. “Doesn’t she know that’s _wrong_?”

Logan arched an eyebrow as his bedroom door opened. Virgil stepped out, kissed his neck, and then slipped back into hiding. Interesting... normally he was the one to deal with emotional outbursts. Perhaps he’d already tried. Maybe that’s why he was hiding. He’d failed to help. Logan frowned; if that was the case, it seemed unlikely Logan could help.

“But I _did_ kill Amanda Cole,” Logan said evenly. “She may be lying about seeing me, and there’s no evidence to connect me to the crime, but I was responsible.”

“Buts she’s lying!” Patton repeated, clearly exasperated. He raked a shaking hand through his hair, turning in circles as he said, “What kind of person can lie about something like this? How was she raised? Was my daughter someone who encouraged lying? This kind of lying?”

Logan didn’t respond. Neither would satisfy him. If he said yes, Patton would be consumed with guilt. If he said no, Patton would still blame himself. The world was not a friendly place for Patton Jenkins, and Logan felt sorry for that.

“Darling,” Roman began softly. “Like I said before, even if she is a liar, it’s not your fault.”

Patton turned on him, eyes wide and hands held out. “But... but...!”

“It’s ridiculous to blame yourself for her personality,” Logan said stiffly. Patton and Roman looked at him, startled. He adjusted his glasses and said, “Cognitive development as well as development of the brain and morals begins somewhat young. You weren’t in charlottes life for that phase... nor were you in her mother’s life for that phase. They grew to become who they were regardless of your choices.” Patton blinked once, twice, and then his hands fell to his sides. After a breath, he looked a little defeated. Logan’s voice was gentle as he said, “There’s nothing you could have done to change this, Patton. You didn’t know.”

Patton nodded sadly. “I know.”

As if to drive this point home, Logan looked at him. Really looked at him. Patton met his eye uneasily, and Logan said, “It’s not your fault. None of this,” he said with a loose gesture at the house. “Is any of your fault.”

He opened his mouth to object, to disagree, but Roman reached out a hand, his voice soft and gentle as he murmured, “Dearheart. Angel, please.”

Patton turned to him, went still, and stepped into his arms. Whatever Patton was going to say was swallowed up when Roman kissed him. It kept him quiet. Let him mull the words. And when Roman pulled back, Patton stayed quiet. Thoughtful and small where he tucked himself into Roman’s chest.

Taking this quiet moment, Logan stepped back and barricaded himself inside his bedroom. There, waiting for him on the bed, Virgil looked at him. Logan didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Instead, he hung his tie on the rack in the closet, took off his glasses, and laid down in bed. Virgil stayed sitting up, looking down at his phone with an unreadable expression.

After a long minute, Virgil threw his phone to the blankets and fell back with a huff. “I tried to talk to him,” he said, low and frustrated. Logan hummed, and Virgil took this as an invitation to go on. “I tried to… I don’t know, help him feel better? But he wouldn’t listen. It’s so weird. Normally we can just… _talk, _you know? And he wouldn’t… wouldn’t talk to me.”

Logan closed his eyes and sighed. “Patton is going through… something, at the moment. You can’t blame him for being difficult.”

“I don’t!” Virgil snapped as he sat up and waved his hands in the air. “That’s the thing! I don’t blame him! It’s just—I don’t—we used to be those friends, you know? The ones that could just… talk to one another.” Logan was almost envious, but he remained respectfully quiet as Virgil said, “And now I… I don’t know. Am I doing something wrong? Am I like… not… a good enough friend?”

Silence settled between them, heavy and thick like a down blanket draped over their shoulders. Virgil looked weighed down with it, resigned under the pressure as he sighed. With careful hands, Logan took Virgil’s shoulder and slowly dragged him back to the pillows. Virgil went willingly, lying back with a pinched but passive expression. There, Logan could press a kiss to his temple before he settled in.

“I highly doubt you’ve done anything wrong. To my knowledge, you are an excellent friend to Patton. Better than I’ve ever been.” Virgil laughed at that, and Logan smiled softly. “He’s upset. Borderline hysterical over this nonsense… but when the dust settles and all is laid-bare, I’m sure he’ll be relieved to have your company.”

Pursing his lips, Virgil turned on his side so his body mirrored Logan’s. They looked at each other, Virgil with clear, concise gray eyes and Logan with his blurry, squinting blue. After a while, Virgil sighed for the umpteenth time. “I just wish things could go back to like they were before, you know? We got to just… _live _for ten minutes and then Charlotte showed up.” He looked at Logan. “Do you seriously think they’re going to be able to arrest you?”

Logan sat up, looking straight ahead at the wall while Virgil’s hand slid down his back and onto the blankets. “Logan,” he said, little more forcefully, “What am I supposed to do if they arrest you?”

“Nothing.”

The bed dipped as Virgil shifted uncomfortably. “What?”

“You aren’t supposed to ‘_do’ _anything if I’m arrested. If it even happens, given the lack of evidence.” Logan scrubbed a hand over his face and laid back again. “If I am arrested – _if_, mind you – I don’t want you or Patton dragged any further into this mess.”

“Logan—”

“I have plan, Virgil, but it’s not one I can explain.” Logan stopped, his hand thrown over his mouth as he let out a long, tired yawn. “I need you to stay in the dark for the sake of it.”

Without warning, Virgil crawled atop Logan and loomed over him, his expression – blurry but painfully displeased in Logan’s eyes – was dark with shadows. Even his voice reflected that deep, unhappy tone. “Hey. Look at me.”

“I am.”

Virgil frowned harder. “No, like, seriously look at me.”

Logan blinked. Was he supposed to get his glasses? Before he could sit up to retrieve them, Virgil laid his full weight on top of Logan and the pressure was very much welcome. It felt grounding having him there, holding him to the blankets like a solid slab of granite. He sighed, happy, and Virgil’s voice reverberated through his chest when he spoke.

“We’re in this together, right?” He asked softly, almost like he was unsure.

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he reached around to hold Virgil impossibly closer. “Yes. Yes, of course we are.”

“’cause I thought… when you brought me back, I thought it meant you wanted me to stick around.”

Logan frowned. “I _do_, Virgil. I do want you to stay. I can’t… I feel—” he paused, feeling the way Virgil softened in his frantic embrace. He sighed. “Go on.”

Virgil took a breath and said, “I don’t like that you’re keeping secrets.”

“I know.”

Virgil emphasized his next words, placing weight into each hard-hitting syllable. “And if you’re keeping secrets, I can’t _help_ you.”

“You _are _helping me, Virgil,” said Logan, his breath tired as it rushed from his chest. “What I’m not telling you will aid us in the future. It’s for the good of reasonable deniability.”

Pushing up onto his elbows, Virgil looked down at him. Long and thoughtful, like staring at Logan would reveal some deep, hidden truth behind his eyes. Logan had no such secrets to give. He simply looked up at Virgil, reaching out to brush a thumb over his cheek. Virgil smiled, but without his glasses, Logan only saw a fraction of the emotion in the expression.

“We’re a team, you giant nerd,” Virgil whispered, almost like a vow that should only be made in the dark of night between very, very soft sheets. Logan quirked an eyebrow, and Virgil leaned down to kiss him, his lips lingering before he pulled back to say, “I don’t like being kept in the dark.”

“Not long,” Logan promised gently, his eyes falling closed when Virgil kissed him again. When Virgil pulled back, Logan felt a little listless as he cleared his throat and said, “It… it won’t be long. When this plan comes to fruition, the mortuary will be gone, and life can go on as planned.”

There was a brief moment where Virgil stiffened – quick, but not undetected – before he kissed along Logan’s neck, teasing as his collar as he murmured, “And what happens to us?”

“We leave,” Logan said as he arched into Virgil’s hands that were slowly sliding down his chest. He caught his wrists when those tricky fingers headed for his belt. He needed to _think_ if he was going to talk. “We’ll…” he cleared his throat again, and Virgil’s smile was pressed into the skin above his collarbone. Logan huffed. “We’ll move on.”

“All of us, right?” Virgil asked in sobering tone that left Logan reeling. He blinked hard when Virgil pulled back to giving him a hard look. “_All _of us are going to move on?”

Logan blinked again, and against all judgement, he said, “Are you afraid of me?”

Virgil sat back, effectively perching himself atop Logan’s thighs with an unreadable expression. Perhaps, if Logan had been wearing his glasses, he’d be able to read it, but alas, the opportunity to retrieve them had slipped past. Instead, he watched the way Virgil cocked his head to the side, as if he were confused.

“The hell kind of question is that?”

Releasing Virgil’s wrists, Logan let his hands settle on Virgil’s thighs, soft and warm under his fingers as he spoke. “Officer Michaels asked you at the station. He asked if I had ever been violent or threatened you… and you hesitated.”

One eyebrow was raised at that. “Because you _have _threatened me. And you _did _scare me, once upon a time,” Virgil ducked forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Now you’re a big ol’ softie. All bark no bite.”

Logan snarled and flipped their positions, pinning Virgil to the blankets. This ‘scare tactic’ did nothing but make Virgil laugh, and Logan couldn’t help but smile as he kissed along Virgil’s neck. “I’m happy that I can amuse you with my poor judgement in character.”

Virgil’s arms were thrown lazily around his neck as Logan slipped a hand under Virgil’s hoodie. A pleased, self-satisfied sigh came from Virgil’s lips, and Logan kissed his chin. Virgil murmured, “I was scared of you when we met. But, hey… times change. People change. That’s a good thing, right?” Logan hummed, and Virgil’s leg hooked around his hip, dragging him close. His next words were warm… but gentle. “Why would you ask me that, anyway?”

Logan sighed a little bit, his forehead pressed to Virgil’s as he murmured, “Because it had been bothering me. Weighing on me.”

“That’s good,” Virgil said. Logan gave him a nonplussed look, and Virgil smiled. “You _should _care what I think.”

“I do,” Logan promised. “I always have.”

“Good,” Virgil kissed him, his fingers carding through Logan’s hair slowly. “Because as soon as your ‘plan’ or whatever is done? I want us back on the same page.”

“Yes,” Logan breathed as Virgil kissed him again, harder this time. He could barely think as he murmured, “I hardly enjoy keeping secrets from you anyway. This will be…” Virgil kissed him, and Logan’s mind momentarily went blank. He startled back to life like an old, stalled computer. “Having you in the know will be… it’ll be—”

“I got it,” Virgil laughed with a nod. “Just kiss me, nerd.”

Logan did. Many, _many_ times. Until the blankets were tangled beneath them and Virgil was putty in his hands. He held him until it felt like their final embrace. He kissed like he’d never taste those lips again. He closed his eyes and pretended, just for a moment, that this mortuary would always been their home. He imagined, there in the comfort of their bedroom, that everything wouldn’t go up in flames. Hopefully, wishful thinking would be enough to sway the future.

But even with all the hope in the world, Logan was still a pessimist. So he valued this time. This break before the fall, the whisper before the scream… a raindrop in a storm of lies and confusion. He clung to it, just as long as the night would allow.

+++++

_Logan knew her by the sound of her steps. The curl of her smile. The dip of her head when she ducked down to kiss his head. He knew his mother. He knew her in words; long, careful discussions about life, silly, lighthearted suggestions for gardens, and soft, quiet memories of his father. He knew her in touches; the way she used to tuck him into bed, her hand carding through his hair, a kiss to his forehead when he was angry or sad. He knew her in everything. In nothing. She was his whole world for years and years…_

_ And now, there she sat on the ground, looking up at him with an odd expression. The face itself was not foreign. But the features were wrong. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t his mother. It was a face he wanted to recognize… but couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge._

_ “Logan,” she said lowly, her eyes glinting in moonlight – too sharp, too close, too far – and her hands complacently in her lap. Black blood stained her lip all the way down the pale column of her throat. She looked… resigned. Like she knew this was going to happen. “If you’re going to kill me, then make it quick, if you would.”_

_ Logan gripped his axe a little tighter. “You… I don’t _want _to kill you, mother.” He was still a child. Still afraid of Lord Carron. Afraid of what he’d done… of what he was _doing _to his mother. What manner of brainwashing, what kind of lies had he told… Logan didn’t know. But she wouldn’t listen to reason. And now here they were. “I just want this to stop. I just want this to… to stop.”_

_ Louise Stein smiled and reached up to wipe the blood from her lip. The first swing hadn’t been hard enough. It had almost taken her head off. _Almost_. And she was already healing, like it had never happened. But she never struck back. She didn’t even try._

_ “Is it for the best, what you’re doing?” She asked, her voice distant and close all at once. Logan flinched and held his axe aloft, like a warning. Still, she went on, “Would you rather bow to the whims of humanity? Would you find your place beneath them?”_

_ “I just want my mother back,” he managed to choke out, his grip weak and hands shaking. He was crying. He knew it. His mother was the only family he had left and killing her would leave him entirely alone with the Carron clan. Even so, he couldn’t let this go on. Neither of them could._

_ “I’m here, Logan,” Louise said softly. “I never left you.”_

_ “You’re not her,” he said darkly. “You’re not my mother anymore.”_

_ Louise smiled. “So be it.”_

_ The axe swung down… _and Logan woke with a jolt.

He sat up, his breath caught high in his throat as he looked around the room. Everything was blurry. Where were his glasses? Where was his mother? No, no… no, that had been a dream. Only a dream. A memory of something happened so long ago, it was considered history.

“Woah, hey,” Virgil said, his voice scratchy with sleep as he reached for Logan and pulled him back down to the pillows. “Are you okay? Jeez… scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m fine,” Logan promised, his mind lingering on the dream as he caught his breath. “I’m fine.”

Clearly unconvinced, Virgil crawled half on top of him, nuzzling close until Logan could calm down. There, with his arms around Virgil, Logan could only think of his mother’s last words. Her last plea. She wanted him to consider Lord Carron’s plot. She wanted him to forsake humanity. It would lead to the ruin of earth, surely… so why did it bother him so much? Why did those words linger?

Would you rather bow to the whims of humanity… technically, that’s what Logan had been doing his entire life. He was fighting to keep himself under the radar… but now he’d been caught. A murder investigation pulled to the forefront of history. Now he was a breath away from being permanently placed on public record. He _was _bowing to the whims of humanity… but it was to keep himself and his friends alive.

Was that justified? Was he doing the right thing?

Logan frowned and stared up at the ceiling, his hand tight on Virgil’s shoulder. Had he done the right thing, swinging that axe? Had he done the right thing, shooting Emily? Had he done the right thing, taking Patton Jensen from his home town all those years ago? Had he done the right thing… had he…

“Logan?” Virgil asked, his voice soft as the blankets and far too careful to be comforting. Logan hummed, and Virgil touched his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he lied. Virgil knew it was a lie. It was a mutually accepted falsehood. Logan closed his eyes and sighed once more, “I’m fine.”

+++++

“You know what I’m curious about?” Roman asked on a foggy Monday evening where he was draped across Patton’s lap. Logan turned a page in the paper, reading about the progression of Amanda Cole’s murder investigation.

“Not particularly.”

Roman went on anyway. “How _did _you get out of that interrogation room? You have less people skills than a rabid squirrel… so how did you wriggle your way out of their grasp?”

Logan folded his paper down, giving Roman a scathing look.

It was the Monday after Logan’s grand trip to the police station. The Monday after Charlotte had come, conquered, and somehow (by some miracle) left empty-handed. It left them all a little shaky in the aftermath, what with Logan scrambling to piece together some semblance of order while Patton was reevaluating his life as a nether-creature. He had almost seemed excited to have family, but something had changed in him… some kind of fear. Something that craved for the entire situation to simply be null and void.

Logan couldn’t possibly blame him.

“I didn’t ‘wriggle’ at all. In fact, it was Virgil that helped deliver me from Officer Michaels.” At the dinner table, Virgil glanced up from his phone, smirked, and looked back to the screen. Logan felt something flicker in his chest before he said, “With an excellent character-witness as well as an alibi, there’s no way they can arrest me.”

Roman pulled a face where he was draped halfway across Patton’s lap on the sofa. “But… didn’t you say they were going to come after you? Arrest you anyway? Someone to blame or some martyr-esque nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, it’s human nature,” Logan drummed his finger against the folded paper. Ink and words running under his hands as he said, “They want someone to blame. Someone to point at and say ‘there is the villain.’ And with Annaliese dead, I’m their only viable suspect.”

Patton passed a loving hand through Roman’s curls as he murmured, “But… if there’s no _evidence_… and Virgil gave your alibi… how would they…?”

“There isn’t any evidence,” Logan said as he folded the newspaper and set it aside. He laced his hands together and perched them atop his knee, looking across the room to see Virgil frowning at the tabletop. “But that doesn’t mean Charlotte won’t do everything in her power to convince the authorities otherwise.”

Virgil’s phone dropped to the table as he stood and gave Logan a hard look. There was a pause, one that was filled with palpable tension in the air. Roman and Patton remained quiet, both looking to Logan for an explanation – or possibly a way out of an altercation. Logan had neither to give.

Without a word, Virgil walked over to Logan’s chair, perched on the arm, and forcefully plopped his head atop Logan’s. There was a crack as their skulls collided and Logan did indeed wince, but Virgil didn’t pull back. He simply leaned against Logan with a quiet, seething emotion. Maybe anger. Maybe worry. Maybe, if Logan were feeling whimsical, a combination of both.

“I get that you’re _really _good at sacrificing yourself,” Virgil said after a long minute. “But I won’t be able to race in an save you at the last minute this time. I mean… you can’t bring me back again if I die this time. That trick only worked once.”

Logan blinked as his eyes went wide. Virgil thought he was going to _sacrifice_ himself. It was almost laughable. Trying to remain calm and subtle, he shifted until he could loop a comforting arm around Virgil’s waist. “No, this is nothing like what happened with Annaliese. I don’t _need _to sacrifice myself.”

Roman sat upright so fast that if he was corporeal, he could have cracked his head on Patton’s chin. Luckily, he was agitated enough that he phased right through the man so he could glare at Logan. “And you’re not sacrificing my darling Patton, either! No sir, no how!”

Logan gave Roman a bored look. “I don’t _plan _to, Roman. Lower your voice.”

Though Patton looked a little lovesick at the protective display, Roman was still fired-up. He gave Logan a hard, angry look, his eyes flared with something that almost resembled righteous indignation. “I’ve known you for many years, Logan Stein. And I know you’re not one to bother with petty-inconveniences. Not yourself.”

“Roman, look at me,” Logan gestured to where he sat in his armchair, Virgil’s arms thrown around his shoulders and cheek resting atop Logan’s head. He quirked an eyebrow. “I’m obviously not the same man I used to be.”

“Wh—well, that’s… you…” Roman sputtered and waved his hands flippantly. “You’ll just…” his hands dropped as he looked at Logan, nonplussed. “What are you going to do, then?”

“That’s simple,” Logan said as he smoothed his trousers. The phone rang. It had to be Mr. Picani. Surely, his purchase was ready. When he stood to answer the phone, he looked at Roman. “I’m going to burn the house down,” he said, “And disappear.”

Patton sputtered a bit, “B… burn the…?”

Logan picked up the phone. “Stein and Jenkins Mortuary. Logan speaking.”

“Oh, Logan!” Emile sounded ecstatic to hear from him, considering they hadn’t spoken much in the past five years. But time had healed wounds and worries, and Emile was starting to warm up to Logan. Not that Logan _needed _him to warm up to him. Or wanted him to, for that matter. But an ally was an ally, so he couldn’t quite complain when Emile said, “The hair you gave me… it was for a brunette, wasn’t it?”

Logan blinked. “It was. Why?”

“Well, the hair was gray. I was a little worried that I got something wrong.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Roman caught a glimpse of the gray hairs at Roman’s temple. A product of the times’ medicine and practices before his untimely death. He turned away before Roman could give him one of those sour expressions. “Yes, it was. He was going gray before he died.”

“I was not!” Roman squawked, holding an offended hand to his hair. There was a beat, and then said, “Wait… is he talking about me? Who’s on the phone?”

Emile hummed thoughtfully, and Logan could something glass _clinking_ together across the line. “Well, I think I have everything in order, here… it might be easiest for you to come pick them up. Check for inconsistencies, monitor responses, you understand.”

“Logan!” Roman hissed, suddenly standing right behind him. Logan swatted at him, trying to keep Roman away. “_Who is it?_ Are you _gossiping_?”

“I’d like to assist with any spiritual charges or exchanges made to the vessel. Like you told me, you’re rusty with magic, right?” He didn’t wait for Logan to respond. “I’d be more than happy to keep things under control.” Emile made this exchange sound routine, as though this transaction was rarely executed properly. Logan was hesitant… but desperate. He was in no place to refuse as Emile said, “And this is strictly confidential, Mr. Stein? You won’t say a word of this to the police?”

Waving Roman away, Logan shook his head knowingly. “Mr. Picani, I’m not a fool. Even if I told the police what I was planning, they wouldn’t believe me. It would earn me a stay in a mental institution.”

Emile laughed – a light, carefree sound in the weight of the conversation – and said, “That’s true! Best to keep the nether-magic close and the human realm closer, as they say.”

Logan blinked. “Who says that?”

“People,” Emile said, a little defensive. “I mean. I do. I try to get Remy to say it, and he says it’s ‘uncool.’ Whatever that means.”

“Is my purchase ready to be picked up?” Logan asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Emile hummed affirmatively, almost about to launch into a ramble, but Logan cut him off. “Would it be alright if I headed over now?”

“Right now?” Emile asked, paused, and sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, that might be best. They’re taking up space and… well, I can’t imagine what you’re going to do with _two _of them. And I don’t think I want to. Come on over,” he said, a little strained over the phone. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

Hanging up the phone, Logan turned to see Roman sulking on the sofa, his face buried in Patton’s lap as he stewed. Virgil was giving Patton a pitying look, almost like that would make the situation better, but Patton only smiled.

“Roman, get off the sofa,” Logan barked, already reaching for his keys. Roman sat up and glared at him. “You’re coming with me.”

“I _just _started sulking.” He fell back against Patton’s lap, a hand thrown dramatically over his eyes as he moaned, “A _real _man would _know _that I can sulk for at least an hour once I’ve gotten started.”

Patton pet his hair. “You poor thing…”

Logan gestured for Virgil to follow, only to get a curious look in return. “I’ll need your help loading something into the car.”

“Cool,” Virgil said as he grabbed his phone. “Road trip.”

Roman lifted his hand just enough to peek out at Logan and mutter, “Why on earth would I want to go on a road trip with _you_ when I could stay here with my angel?”

Glancing up, Patton smiled uneasily. “I can come with you? I mean… I’ll… have to be careful and hide from the moonlight, but…”

“There isn’t a cloud in the sky, Patton,” Logan said, his voice gentler than he knew he could muster. “You should stay here and hold the fort. Roman, however, needs to come with me.”

Patton and Roman gripped each other simultaneously, like they were terrified that they were going to be torn apart at any moment. “Why?” they asked in chorus. Logan rolled his eyes, ignoring the curious stare Virgil threw his way.

“Please, hold the theatrics. I’m not going to exorcise you; I’m going to bring you back to life.”

+++++

Patton didn’t mind the quiet that came from an empty house, even though it reminded him of the days he spent alone, before Roman revealed himself, all those years ago. There was an anxious sort of energy that kept him awake and aware throughout the evening, and he resolved himself to cleaning until the others returned. Dusting, sweeping, then mopping… plenty of chores could keep him busy.

Until someone knocked on the door.

Foreboding was not a strange concept to Patton. He was used to the anxiety that came with living a half nether creature life. “Who could find us,” “what happens if I change unexpectedly,” and “what if someone recognizes one of my old names” are questions that stream through his mind on a nightly basis. But Roman is always there and Roman always soothes him… but Roman wasn’t there. Not at that moment.

So, with the weight of something… _something_… going wrong on his mind, Patton opened the door to see the face of his granddaughter, Charlotte Fields. She wore a soft shawl, carried her bag with her, and stood on the porch with a difficult-to-read expression. Patton inhaled through his nose; Logan was right. She smelled like death. Something deep, deep under the skin. Like a slow-approaching monster… the mountains sliding off into the seas. He looked at her and felt something akin to pity. Or maybe it was just fear.

“Hi,” she said, as if they were old friends who hadn’t spoken in some time. Patton nodded. He wasn’t sure what his face was doing. Was he grimacing? It felt like he was grimacing. Charlotte peeked around him to look at the inside of the mortuary. “Where’s Mr. Porter?”

Patton’s face screwed up. “Who…? Oh. Oh! Logan. Logan is…” he paused, his tongue lingering on the words that were slick like oil on his tongue. He didn’t want to tell her the truth… what would she do if she knew he was alone? But, without Logan _actually _there to back up his claim, he could be caught in a lie and she would do her dastardly deed anyway. He blinked. Dastardly? What on earth could one little girl do to him? “He’s not here at the moment.”

“Oh, good,” Charlotte nodded, her hands worrying at the shoulder-strap of her bag. They stood there, staring at each other through the doorway, until Charlotte brushed a bit of curling hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “I was hoping we could… talk.”

He blinked and repeated, “Talk.”

“Yeah. Just the two of us.” She looked at him, her eyes so familiar but so _different_. Like looking in a mirror, into his own eyes… but something in the glass is wrong. Something about the hue was… incorrect. A shade of difference? A fragment out of place? She smiled, and the corners of her eyes crinkled. “I mean… family should talk. Now that I know you’re actually… _alive_.”

Somehow, Patton moved on autopilot. He invited her in, took her to the front desk, offered her a seat and a beverage – she declined water and coffee, but would like hot chocolate, thank you – and sat down across from her. All the while, her bag was held to her side, close and careful like someone would take it from her at any moment.

The hot-pot beeped, Patton poured her cocoa, and she took little, delicate sips as she looked around the room. “This is a nice place.”

“Thank you,” he said, again, on autopilot.

She smiled a little. “Kinda depressing, though. All the dark colors on the walls and such.”

“Well,” Patton fidgeted his hands in his lap. “It’s _supposed _to be somber. We _are _a mortuary.”

“Right, right…” she set her cup aside. “And how did that happen?”

Patton blinked hard. “H-how did…?”

She looked at him, her eyes bright and expectant as she said, “How did you come to work here? And… why here? Why stay with Logan? Sorry, I mean, Mr. Porter.”

Patton wished Roman was here, with his confidence and ability to change the subject. He wished Virgil was here, to make that dark, angry expression that would wither Charlotte where she sat. He wished Logan was there to insist she leave, that Patton wanted _nothing_ to do with her. But they were gone. They were all on some strange mission of which Patton was not allowed to know the details.

So, he spat out the backstory that Logan had crafted for him before they moved-in. “I was in the area and Logan needed an assistant. Someone to run the public-affairs of the mortuary while he did the science. I applied, he said I was _very _personable, and the rest is history.”

Charlotte nodded and set her cup on the desk carefully. “Okay… so how did you _really _start working for him?”

Sagging where he sat, Patton sighed, “Because Logan saved my life.” He gave her a long look, seeing the way her eyes glinted in vague, confused misunderstanding. He sat up and really looked at her. She was young… but how young? If her mother had been born in 1938… and even if she had waited until her late forties to give birth, then… “You aren’t surprised to see how young I am. You… weren’t surprised by _any _of this.”

Charlotte hummed, her hands combing through her hair as she looked at the desk quietly. “Yeah, well… Mom was…” she looked away, suddenly very small in the face of her own words. “Mom was strange. I think… I think Grandma knew it better than anyone else. On nights with the moon out, she would get… well, a little crazy. The doctors said she was suffering from some sort of psychosis.”

Patton winced. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Charlotte didn’t seem to hear him, going on with a soft voice. “She didn’t look old. She… she never really got wrinkles or anything… but you could see it. You could see it when she started to go off the end… it was like she didn’t fit in her skin, you know?” Patton didn’t, but he nodded anyway. Charlotte continued. "She... she would growl and… and grab you with these sharp fingers. Even now,” she looked at her own hands, a little in awe and a little in terror. “Even… even now, sometimes I feel… off. At night. When I see the moon. When I… feel the light of it.” She looked up at Patton, a little in awe. “Can you tell me?” She said, “Can you tell me… what I am?”

With a sorry look, Patton folded his hands and leaned them on the desktop. “You know… it’s… it’s difficult to explain. There’s… well, it’s all to do with the netherworld and—”

“Netherworld,” Charlotte repeated, the word sounding more amused than awed on her tongue. “Is that what’s going on? We’re some… imaginary creatures?”

“There’s nothing imaginary about this,” Patton said stiffly. “I know that for a fact. You see, it… well, it all goes back to the summer of 1881.” Charlotte’s eyes went wide – so there _were _still things that could surprise her. “I was in the company of a young woman named Emily Carron—”

At that, Charlotte actually laughed. “Wow, another woman! Quite the ladies’ man, aren’t you?”

Patton sat back and gave Charlotte a hard look. Who _was _this young lady? What, in all honesty, did she _want_ from him? Light-hearted stories? He didn’t have many of those to offer. Straightening his glasses a bit, Patton tried to bite down the corners of his frown as he spoke.

“I don’t think this is a laughing matter, young lady.”

Charlotte had the audacity to roll her eyes as she muttered, “_Young lady_.”

“I died that summer,” Patton said darkly. Charlotte looked at him, her smile still clear. Perhaps she was waiting for him to joke. For him to say, ‘just kidding.’ He didn’t. Her discomfort grew… and her smile began to fall. Finally, it was sinking in. “Emily Carron took my life… and then brought me back.”

“So,” Charlotte licked her lips and reached out her hands to turn her mug of hot chocolate a few times. “You’re… what? A zombie?”

“Not quite. I’m what’s called a ‘ghoul.’” And, good heavens it would be so much simpler if Logan were there to explain things. But he wasn’t. Patton was on his own… and he’d never been known for valuable, lengthy explanations. So, he sputtered what he could and hoped for the best. “A ghoul is something between a… well, a human and a vampire. Alive but not… does that make sense? See, it’s all a process, bringing someone back from the dead and—well, in a manner of speaking… I think she got it wrong. The whole thing is pretty suspect.”

Keeping her eyes on her cup, Charlotte frowned. “It’s… truth be told, this isn’t what I expected.”

Patton tilted his head a bit. “What exactly did you expect, hun?”

She smiled at that but didn’t lift her eyes. “Not sure. A grave, I guess? But… I think I knew better. After seeing what happened to my mom… after feeling what I’ve felt all my life… I think I knew better than to assume that you, of all people, would just…”

“Die?” Patton offered softly. Charlotte didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. “If it’s any consolation, life after death isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”

Again, Charlotte laughed, but the sound was softer now. Quieter, as if the sound didn’t reach all the way down to her chest. She sighed, tracing the lip of the cup with her finger. “You’ve been alive since 1880… Mom couldn’t last more than sixty years, and I…” again, her words trailed off into a careful, meaningful silence. Patton looked at her.

“Charlotte,” he said, firm but cautious, “I don’t think you’re not here to form some sort of… relationship with me.” She looked at him curiously but didn’t deny it. He went on. “Rachel… your grandmother was an… impressive woman.”

“I know.”

“She deserved the best.”

_“I know._”

Patton smiled sadly. “She deserved better than me,” he said softly, “Better than a man who didn’t love her. Better than a man who was so… so _scared _of himself, he’d run to a woman to hide his own affections.”

Charlotte sighed and stood from her chair. “I don’t need you talking me down from anything. What happened between the two of you was almost a hundred years ago.”

“You… you’re leaving?” Patton blinked and stood with her, trailing close as she headed for the door. “So soon? But… I thought… I thought the reason you came looking for me was—”

“I thought you’d have answers,” she said where she lingered in the entryway, holding her back to her side tight and secure. “I thought…” her eyes flickered to him, then away. “I don’t know. I saw you and thought, hey, maybe there’s hope. Maybe I don’t have to die like my mom.”

Patton felt a twinge in his chest. “Charlotte, I—”

“I’m not mad.” She reached for the door, saw his expression, and smiled. “I’m _not, _I promise. I think… more than anything, I’m just… tired.”

“Charlotte, please,” Patton reached out and held the door shut, keeping her closer than he would have liked when he said, “I have a life here. A job. A… a _family _of sorts.”

She looked distant when she said, “That’s nice.”

“Please, just,” Patton shook his head, pleading as he said, “Why? Why are you doing this to us?” She gave him a quizzical look, and Patton stressed, “Why are you framing Logan for murder? _Why would you do that? _If it’s not about _Rachel,_ then what—”

“Not sure,” Charlotte said after a minute. She looked up at him, her eyes glinting as she said, “Like I said. Finding you was on the bucket list… everything after this is just gravy.”

“You don’t _have _to do this,” he said, “If… if you don’t have much longer, you should travel. See the world!” She didn’t move. “Eat good food. Kiss a stranger. Watch the sunrise. Don’t—” he begged her, taking her hand and holding it tight as she looked through him. “Don’t lie your way to the grave. I think that will just make things worse. For everyone.”

“Wow,” she breathed through a smile, “Top-notch advice for my last moments.”

Patton’s heart ached. “Charlotte, you need to understand something: if I had known… if I had _known _about Rachel, I would have—”

“What?” She snapped. Patton took a step back, pressing himself back against the wall as Charlotte snatched her hand away. “Would you have saved my mom? Can you save _me?_” Patton’s lips pressed together in a firm line. Charlotte opened the door. “Yeah… yeah, I didn’t really think you could anyway.”

Patton stayed against the wall, watching the way she pushed her hair over her shoulder and stepped out into the cold night air. She went with her head held high, but there was no dignity in the stance. She was wounded deep under that bubbly exterior. She wanted something she couldn’t have. With one foot in the grave and the other fading into the next plane of existence, she was clinging to life with only her fingernails. One by one, they were doomed to break, and she would fall, bloody and screaming, into death’s waiting arms.

Stepping into the doorway, Patton watched her head for the street. She had no car waiting. No ride ready to take her away. She just… walked. Alone. Quiet. Into a cold night that held no mercy for a creature of her caliber. The world had never seen one like her before… and probably never would again.

“Charlotte!” Patton called, leaning out of the door as far as he could without stepping into the moonlight. She looked back at him, her eyes flashing and reflecting subtly in the moonlight. A trick that would only work on the eyes of a nether-creature. He gripped the doorframe. “Your mother… what… what was her name?”

Charlotte blinked and held her bag a little closer. “Harriet,” she said, her voice ringing through the air like a bell. A death knell tolls, and it comes with a name. “Harriet Fields.”

And then she was gone, disappearing into the dark of the night with her back to the mortuary and her bag held close to her side. Patton swallowed thickly. Harriet. His daughters’ name had been Harriet. A lovely name… a good name for the late 20’s. A respectable name. Had she been happy? Popular? Had she fallen in love, of was Charlotte the result of a drunken accident, too? He knew next to nothing… and despite his fear, maybe he wanted to know more. Then again, maybe he didn’t.

“Harriet,” he breathed, his breath clouding in the night air. The world turned. The light crept toward the doorway. He stepped back and closed it. Locked it. Resigned himself to never open it again when he was home alone. His hand held to his breast, he murmured again, “Harriet.” He’d had an aunt named Harriet, way back when. He knew little of her. But he remembered his mother loved her very much. It was distant. Like a memory he wanted to pull forward… but didn’t have the reach. He leaned back against the door, took a deep, shuddering breath, and blinked hard. Tears were hot when they rolled down his cheeks, and he only breathed: “Harriet,” as the seconds faded into minutes.

His daughter. His _daughter_. A family he’d never known… how could he grieve a life he’d never known? How could it _hurt _so much? To know that she’d been carrying the burden of his cursed blood. To know that she had died, perhaps in pain, perhaps in silence. To know that she had been labeled as mentally unstable because of that same blood. Patton closed his eyes and shaped her name on his tongue. Harriet, _Harriet_… to think she’d lived her entire life, and not _once_ did Patton ever get to see her. To touch her. To hold her. To whisper her name and promise that he’d protect her. That he’d _save _her. God, it was depressing… it made him want a drink, just to take off the edge.

Standing upright, Patton took off his glasses and scrubbed at his face furiously. No. He wasn’t going to fall into that rabbit hole. Virgil was smart. He was good with the electronic whosie-whatsits that he liked to play with. Maybe he could do one of those internet searches. Maybe Patton could learn more about Harriet. Maybe, just maybe… he wouldn’t have to sit in sad, idle wonder.

Returning to the front desk – Patton poured out Charlotte’s cocoa – he wrote Harriet’s name on a scrap of paper and stuck it to the table. The place already smelled like Charlotte. Her perfume, her shampoo… maybe even the scent of death that was following her like an old friend. When the others came home, they would _know _she’d been there. That was fine.

He had questions, and if Charlotte wasn’t going to answer them, he’d do what it took to get a response. Maybe from Virgil’s internet. Maybe from Logan’s connections. Maybe from an alchemist with an affinity for divination. Patton sat at the desk, folded his hands under his chin, and watched the door.

This was going to be a long night.

+++++

“Incredible,” Emile said as he circled Roman, slow and appreciative. “Just _incredible._”

“I know!” Roman said brightly before he glanced at Logan, looking more than a little confused. “What’s incredible?”

“You are! May I?” Emile stepped closer with his hand extended and Roman robotically took it in a firm handshake. Emile held fast, though, examining Roman’s hand curiously. “_In… credible._ Wraiths are rare! Normally very vengeful spirits… when you said you were bringing a consciousness to me, I assumed you meant a _ghost_, but a _wraith_…” he looked up a Roman, golden eyes glimmering. “How long have you been like this?”

Roman blinked hard. “H-how… why, the 1880’s, I assume. Shortly after my death?”

“You assume,” Emil echoed gently, “You don’t know?”

Again, Roman looked to Logan like he would somehow explain the situation. Logan had no such explanations to give. Even if he _wanted _to give one, he had no way to give it. The arrangement made with Mr. Picani was one of mutual benefit. One that hinged on the idea that no one was going to know what he was doing here or why. So, quietly pressing himself to one of the less offensive-smelling shelves in the shop, Logan pressed his lips together and watched Emile examine Roman.

Still holding Roman’s hand, Emile pursed his lips. “I have to wonder if there will be conflicts of energy when you try to enter the vessel…”

Roman jerked where he stood, disappearing from the corporeal plane and reappearing somewhere near the door. “Vessel? Logan, I’d like to know _exactly _what’s going on.”

Emile didn’t mind his disappearance, choosing to adjust his glasses and tap his finger against his chin as he headed for the backroom. “Wraiths are normally the product of suppressed, violent emotions. Anger, grief…” he looked at Virgil and smiled, “You know the movie _Poltergeist?_”

Virgil blinked and gave Roman a sparing glance, “Yeah?”

“That movie was based on a wraith encounter. Ghosts can do very little to impact the world around us,” he turned to give Roman another long, considerable look. “Which makes me worry that the transfer won’t work well. If you’re capable of being tangible, then how…” his words trailed off as he waved them toward the backroom.

“_Transfer_?” Roman repeated in hiss. He appeared next to Logan, dark and angry as he growled, “Logan, what the _hell_ am I doing here?”

“As I said,” Logan assured him as they stepped into the backroom. “We’re bringing you back to life.”

There, sitting on two chairs in the backroom, where two living, breathing Romans. Their eyes were closed. They were clothed in old, worn pants and shirts that no doubt belonged to Emile at some point. It was almost jarring to see them; of course it was odd to see _two _of Roman. A Roman with a beating heart was more than enough to surprise him. But it was mostly the complexion of their faces that alarmed him.

They were flushed. Cheeks rosy with blood and life and eyes that weren’t sunken with death and time. They didn’t move, but there was clearly life in them. Something that kept them breathing and soft as Emile passed a hand through one’s hair.

“Alright,” he said, almost like he was presenting a restored antique. “Does everything look like it’s in the right place?”

“What the _fuck_,” Virgil breathed from the doorway. Logan gave him an amused look, and Virgil only stared in idle alarm. “Dude, _what the fuck?”_

“You wanted to see my homunculi,” Emile said, unbothered by his reaction. He gestured to the two bodies in the chairs. “Here they are. It took some time getting everything to grow right, but… well, it’s nothing a little alchemy can’t fix.”

“Why? _Why_?” Virgil gestured to the bodies before he looked at Logan helplessly. “Why are there _two of them_?” Logan didn’t answer.

“Good lord,” Roman breathed as he flickered into the room with wide eyes. He stepped toward one of the homunculi, his hand reaching out to touch a shoulder… only to draw his hand back. He watched their chests rise and fall. He marveled at their hands, their legs, their faces… then he looked up at Emile in wonder. “It’s… good god, it’s like looking back in time.”

Emile’s smile was a little sad where he stood behind the other homunculus. With a firm pat to its shoulder, Emile said, “Let’s see if it works as well as I hoped they would. I mean… I’ve heard people making homunculi for ghosts, but wraiths are a different story.”

Roman looked a little startled. “It… you want me to… inhabit one of them. But… what about the original souls?”

“There aren’t any original souls,” Emile said softly, his eyes dragging around the room as he spoke. “They are homunculi. Just bodies moving on reflex. They need an actual soul to guide them.”

While Roman continued to fawn over his newfound living, breathing body, Virgil took Logan’s arm and pulled him aside. “Logan. Seriously. What’s going on?”

Logan put a hand on Virgil’s, calm and calculated as he said, “I need a body, Virgil. To deter the investigation.”

Virgil’s expression crumbled. “_How?”_

Leaning forward, Logan pushed his nose into Virgil’s hair and took a breath. The herbs were nearly unbearable in the shop, but Virgil still smelled like the shampoo he always used. He let out a tired exhale. “I already told you about the fire, Virgil.”

“You…” Virgil went stiff under his hands. “You’re not going to set Roman on fire, are you?”

Logan pursed his lips. Now, that _almost _sounded appealing. But that would break Patton’s heart. He shook his head and stepped back, giving Roman and Emile a tired look.

“No, I’m not. Like I said, I needed another body to deter the investigation. The other is for Roman to use as he pleases.”

Virgil’s eyebrows raised in a show of disbelief. “So you got… two of Roman. One for Roman and one for… what? To distract the cops?” Virgil snorted. “Are you gonna kill Roman? One murder investigation cancels out another?”

Logan almost laughed at that. _Almost._ But he was more interested in watching Roman at the moment. The wraith in question was nearly transparent, his eyes on the homunculus as Emile spoke to him on soft, calm tones.

“Now, it won’t feel exactly like possession, from what I’m told. It’s more like… putting on a pair of gloves that are a little loose.” Emile gestured to Roman calmly. “I’m sure you can figure it out in no time.”

“I’ve never…” Roman wrung his hands a bit. “I’ve never possessed anyone before. I…” he blinked and looked at Emile. “If… if I inhabit one of these, will… will I be alive?”

Emile hesitated. “In a manner of speaking.”

“And I’ll be able to do anything a normal living person could do?” Roman stressed, his voice pitched toward desperate hope. Logan raised an eyebrow, but stayed back, watching the interaction from afar as Roman said, “I’ll be… it’ll be _my _body. A real, living, breathing body.”

This time, Emile didn’t hesitate. “Yes, it will.”

Roman let out a long, disbelieving breath that he didn’t need. “So I… I could eat. And… and sleep. And feel…” his eyes went wide as his expression bloomed into a smile. “I’d be able to _touch_ Patton. To feel his warmth. I…” he looked down at the body in front of him. “I’m going to do it.”

Emile nodded and went to a nearby shelf. There, he plucked up a piece of chalk and scribbled a few sigils on the floor around the chairs. When Roman looked at him, Emile simply smiled. “Just to keep things from getting feisty.” When he was finished, he gestured to one of the bodies with a grin. “Go ahead. We’ll be right here.”

There was a key hesitation in Roman’s movements, one that signified that he was still very, very unsure of himself… but he placed a hand on the vessel’s shoulder. Logan braced himself. Possessions could often go wrong. It was one of the main issues with wraiths; they were volatile. Too emotional. Emile was at the ready, too. His eyes were still glowing that dangerous, magical gold. He was prepared for things to go wrong… had he done this before? Transferring a soul into a homunculus? Maybe. Had it gone wrong? Probably. It was all a waiting game… what would happen to Roman Prince?

To the naked eye, Roman seemed to vanish in a puff of dust. Virgil flinched a little when he disappeared, a little alarmed, but Logan and Emile tensed and waited. If he couldn’t harness the possession correctly, there was a chance his energy could wreak havoc in the shop. So they waited. And waited. The body didn’t move. Roman didn’t reappear.

After two solid minutes, Emile rounded the chairs and knelt in front of Roman with a calm, open smile. “Roman… I’m sure this is very difficult. Can you give us a sign that you’re still here?”

Silence. Not even a twitch. Logan felt his stomach clench unhappily. Virgil held his arm too tight. The air was uncomfortable in the room, and still, Logan breathed. Emile tried again.

“Wraiths are normally the result of someone being unhappy in the time of their death. Violent deaths, sudden ones… it can be a scary thing. We were scared, Roman?” His voice was gentle but prodding. Hoping for an answer. No reply came. Still, Emile kept trying, “I’m not going to force you to make peace with yourself. That would probably send you off to the netherworld. No, I just want you to recognize that emotion in yourself.” He looked at Roman, watching for any sign of movement. “It’s alright to be angry. It’s okay to be upset. We weave our own threads… it’s up to you to pull the right strings.”

Slowly, carefully, the body in the chair moved. Just a flicker of emotion on the face. Just a twitch of the fingers at first. But the eyes fluttered open, clear and coherent as Roman lifted his head… and looked around the room. He looked _exhausted_. Unsurprising for a man who hadn’t been able to sleep for over a hundred years. When he spoke, it was rasping. Again, unsurprising for a man who hadn’t had anything to _drink _in a hundred years.

“I feel,” he said hoarsely. He paused, licked his lips, and tried again. “I feel… heavy.”

Emile nodded, visibly relaxing at the sight of Roman’s sleepy expression. “A body is a heavy thing. It’s not easy being tangible.”

“Mood,” Virgil muttered. Logan gave him an odd look. What mood? Was this another one of his contemporary references? Logan shook it off as Roman struggled to lift his arms… and failed. He sighed; they were probably going to have to help him to the car.

When Emile stood and turned to him, Logan pulled an envelope from his pocket. “As we agreed,” he said, handing over the envelope that was stuffed with large bills. Emile took it carefully, not bothering to count them. Logan nodded. “I appreciate your assistance.”

Emile smiled thinly. “And I’d appreciate if we didn’t do this again. I don’t know what you’re planning… and I don’t think I _want _to know. But it’s clear _something _is going to happen.”

“That is normally the way of things,” Logan said stiffly. He looked at Roman, seeing the way he held a hand to his chest… probably marveling at the feeling of his heart beating. “All right, Roman?”

“I honestly can’t believe that I’m… alive,” Roman muttered to himself. He lifted his head to give Logan a sharp look. “No, I can’t believe that you would do this out of the goodness of your heart. And,” he glanced at the other homunculus. “I can’t imagine why you need _two _of these bodies.”

Logan waved that away as he stepped forward and grabbed the uninhabited body over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He felt a slight strain in his knees, but ignored it as he headed for the door. “Virgil, if you could help Roman to the car…”

“Y-yeah,” Virgil put Roman’s arm over his shoulder and helped him up. Roman thanked him – his voice soft and unusually fragile – as they made their way to the entrance of the shop. More than once, he had to stop and help Roman find his footing (they would have to buy him shoes). “Easy. We’ve got all night.”

Logan didn’t say anything about that. He opened the trunk and placed the limp homunculus inside, closing the lid gently as he went to hold the door for Virgil and Roman. Emile watched from the center of his shop, his eyes glowing in the dim lights as they retreated. He smiled, but it wasn’t a joyful expression. His brow furrowed, but he wasn’t angry. He was afraid… no, concerned. Logan could understand the feeling.

“Merry meet, Mr. Stein,” he said, the envelope held to his chest. Logan nodded, and Emile’s eyes narrowed a bit. “I hope we never meet again.”

“As do I,” Logan said with another polite nod.

The door shut behind him, the bell above the door _jingling _pleasantly while Emile stood still and watched Logan get into his car. The doors slammed shut. The engine rumbled to life. And just like that, Logan Stein and his small entourage (one additional body included) were disappearing down the small-town streets. Emile took a deep breath and went to his back room.

He snapped his fingers and several candles sputtered into flame, jumping to attention as he opened the envelope of unmarked bills. No one could know where this money came from. No one could know it was ever there. Quietly, Emile poured a silvery liquid into a bowl… and dipped a candles’ flame into it. The bowl was engulfed in flame. After setting aside the candle, Emile placed the envelope into the fire.

One less record of Logan Stein’s presence in the town. One less link to drag the Picani name into the light. The money went up in flames, and with it, all plausible evidence that Logan had ever been there.

Quietly, Emile shuffled the cards of the Major Arcana by the light of the fire. He didn’t want a deep reading. Just a clue. Just an idea of what Logan Stein planned to do with his creations. When he placed a card on the table, his mouth was set in a deep frown. He snapped his fingers, and the fire was extinguished. Smoke and ash clouded the air. Emile Picani left the room.

In the smoke, Death stood in the upright position. Waiting.

+++++

“Virgil!” Patton said as the door opened, ready to meet them at the door and demand one of his internet searches. He went to the entryway, his eyes catching on Logan – a frown on his face and the smudge of something chemical-y on his clothing. Before he looked at Virgil. “Virgil, kiddo, can you help me—Roman?”

There was a sound in the air. Something Patton hadn’t heard since Virgil had been… well… _alive _in the house. It was a heartbeat. One that was stronger and realer than his own. It wasn’t Logan and it _certainly _wasn’t Virgil. But there, draped over Virgil’s shoulder like he couldn’t hold himself upright, Roman was breathing. _Breathing_. Like movement was exhausting and he had to catch his breath. Patton’s hands hovered in the air, unsure of what to do next.

“What… what…?”

Logan gestured to Roman idly. “Like I said, I brought him back to life. For the sake of our own safety, I need another pair of actual, physical hands.”

Patton’s hands shook. Roman was looking at him, a thin, tired smile on his lips. Without thought, Patton rushed forward to help him, propping him up and helping him to the stairs so Virgil could let go. Roman seemed to find this gesture particularly heroic.

“Oh, angel, look at you! Descending from on high to help me… what a day, what an honor.”

Patton shook his head. “Oh, hush…” he looked down at Roman’s clothing. An unfamiliar button-up and some khaki slacks. He’d never seen these clothes before. Especially not on Roman. “New clothes?”

“A gift from Mr. Picani,” Logan explained as he followed Patton and Roman up the stairs. “I’m certain he didn’t want to leave the body undressed. Immodesty, and all.”

“Though, if it were just the two of us…” Roman said with a grin.

“Hush,” Patton said again.

Once they were upstairs, Patton helped Roman to the table and sat him down. He lingered there for a long while, swinging his legs under the table and stretching his arms like he hadn’t felt them in a long time. Oh, who was Patton kidding… he _hadn’t _felt them in a long while. He was brought back into a body. A real body. Patton blinked, reaching out to touch Roman’s shoulder.

And Roman simply looked at him. He didn’t flicker. He didn’t fade. He stayed there, real and _warm _under his hand. Patton took a shaky, happy breath.

“How… how do you feel?”

Roman smiled up at him, taking Patton’s hand in his unsteady one. “In all honesty, a little sick to my stomach… but in a good way. I haven’t felt sick in over a hundred years. It’s better than not being able to feel _anything_.”

Patton smiled, then blinked. “Your stomach. Are you hungry?”

“Why… why, I bet I am,” Roman said, almost like the concept was foreign to him. “Most likely. You’re so smart, angel. Just another reason to love you.”

Patton frittered away to the kitchenette, digging through the refrigerator (they would have to stock up on real food again, just for Roman) while Logan and Virgil lingered at the top of the stairs. They were watching him, he knew. Maybe because they knew about Charlotte’s being there. Maybe because they wanted to gauge his reaction with a living, breathing Roman. It didn’t bother him, nor did it scare him.

He made some toast with butter – just something simple for Roman’s stomach – and poured a glass of milk for him. There, he sat at the table, helping Roman lift his glass with shaking, unexperienced hands. He ate slowly, little bits of food that came with near-indecent moans of pleasure.

“I forgot how much I _missed _eating,” he mumbled around a mouthful of bread. He reached out to offer the bread to Patton, who obligingly took a small bite. Roman’s thumb swiped over his bottom lip, wiping away a bit of butter and licking it away before he continued to eat. “And… oh, and I can _sleep _again. Angel,” he said, reaching out to Patton again, “Oh, say you’ll sleep with me. It’ll be glorious. We’ll sleep for a day. Maybe two. Just sleeping. How _marvelous _would that be?”

Patton could only laugh as he pat Roman’s hand. “That sounds lazy to me!”

“But comfortable!” Roman insisted as he chewed and swallowed. Patton reached out to pass a hand through Roman’s hair – he sighed happily – and his thumb passed over Roman’s temple. There, just as it had always been, there were little streaks of gray hair. From life? From death? Maybe it was a mixture. Patton wasn’t sure. But it was his Roman, right there, at the table, eating food and talking about sleeping like it was a luxury he’d seldom been able to afford.

It was almost blissful, this little reprieve. A slight gap between movements in a loud, shocking rhapsody. Logan and Virgil still watched him. A chemical smell lingered in the air. Patton tried to ignore it. Even when that familiar sense of foreboding filled the air.

After a minute, Logan disappeared down the stairs again. Virgil came to sit on the sofa, giving Roman a playful tap on the head as he went. Patton smiled at him.

“Virgil?” He said, seeing the way Virgil pecked at this phone tiredly. “Could you… well, I was wondering if you could do one of those internet searcher things for me.”

“What?” Virgil asked, pivoting where he sat so he could look past Roman. “I mean. Yeah, I _can… _what do you want me to search for?”

“My daughter,” he said, seeing the way Roman froze and looked at him, a little uneasy. Patton touched his wrist and said, “Her name… her name was Harriet. Harriet Fields. I just… I just wanted to know if there was anything I could learn about her. Something like… how she lived. If she got married. Something like that.”

Virgil slowly sunk back down in his seat, pecking at his phone a bit more. “Yeah… I’m sure there’s some kinda family-tree website I can check.”

“Sure, sure,” Patton nodded, not quite sure what that meant. His knowledge of technology was limited, but Virgil seemed to know what he was looking for, so he let it be. Roman was still looking at him, though. Patton smiled. “What’s wrong, sugarcane?”

Roman licked crumbs away from his lips and looked at his plate. “You… sometimes I think you’re happy, here with me. And then….” He lifted his eyes to stare straight ahead at the wall. “And then you want to know about her.”

Patton sat back a bit. “I _am _happy with you, Roman. I’m very happy. I just think… well, she _was _my daughter. I never… never got to know her.”

“If you had,” Roman said softly, “If you had known… would you have still wanted to be with me? Would you have changed your mind?”

Patton opened his mouth, rethought it, and closed it. There was no way to win this conversation. Even if he _did _win, it would be a very hollow victory. Virgil sunk down in his seat a little more, looking like he’d very much like to disappear into the sofa cushions.

“Roman,” Patton said carefully, picking and choosing his words. “You know I love you.”

“I do.”

“You _know _that. Finding out about Charlotte and Harriet isn’t going to change that… the past is in the past, and… well, despite everything that’s happening, that will never change.” He put a hand over Roman’s, holding it to the table as Roman’s blue eyes searched his frantically. Patton stayed level and open as he said, “We can’t go back and change what’s already happened. And even if we could, I don’t want to think I’d change any of this. If I could go back today, I wouldn’t stop myself from loving you.”

“Good,” Virgil snapped from the table. “Because Rachel Fields got married to some guy named Drake Sheldon.” He stopped, snorted and said, “Sounds like a nerd.”

Roman turned to him with a curious expression. “She was married?”

“Yeah,” Virgil muttered as he scrolled though something on his phone. “Says they were married in 1944. He died in 1972.” He held up his phone as evidence, though Patton couldn’t read the screen from so far away. His gray eyes found Patton’s and they held fast. “You wouldn’t have been happy with her, Pat. She wouldn’t have been happy with you. _But_,” he tapped his screen a few times. “Says here that they had a great life together. ‘Survived by loving wife, Rachel, and beloved daughter, Harriet.’ They were happy.”

Patton’s chest warmed at the sound of that. They had been happy. Harriet had been born into a loving home. Rachel… she had been too much for him. They wouldn’t have made good parents. Not as a team, anyway. When Roman turned to look at him, Patton smiled and sighed.

“That’s all I could ask for,” he said after a minute, his hands drumming the table idly.

Roman hummed and muttered, “But it certainly _does _beg the question… if Rachel had married and lived a happy life… why is Charlotte here? What does she want?”

Virgil gave Patton a knowing look. One that said, ‘_I know she was here, but you’re my friend and I’m not going to say anything until _you _do.’ _It was a kind gesture. It was also very pitiable. Sighing a little, Patton fidgeted with his hands as he spoke.

“She came here today,” he admitted, seeing the way Roman jolted and turned to look at him, alarmed. Patton didn’t smile as he said, “She doesn’t _care _about what happened between Rachel and I. She… well, from the sound of it, she was just hoping that I’d have some explanation of what she is and… how she can avoid death.”

Virgil made a face. “But… she _can’t, _can she? I mean. She’s like… three-quarters human. She’s still mortal, right? Isn’t that how that works?”

Before Patton could say anything, Logan ascended the stairs and said, “She’s at the end of her rope. When Emily knew she had nowhere left to run, she gave in and caused trouble wherever she could.” He gave Patton a meaningful look. “And that included changing you.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “So… what on earth can Charlotte do? Complain? _Attempt _to make other ghouls?”

“I doubt she could manage that,” Logan said as he passed the table. Patton’s nose wrinkled; the chemical smell was stronger now. Had he bathed in some sort of acetone? He took a box of matches from the cabinet and handed them to Roman. “Hold these, please.” Roman took them, looked at them, and gave Logan an odd look.

“What are you playing at, you miserable sod?”

Logan didn’t answer. He went to the landline, picked up the phone, and handed it to Virgil. “Call the police, please.” Virgil’s eyes went wide for a moment, then, as if he remembered some secret agreement between the two of them, he nodded and dialed 9-1-1. Like an afterthought, Logan said, “Sound frantic, if you could.”

Patton blinked and stood from the table, his hand on Roman’s shoulder as he said, “What’s going on?”

“I’ve set a fire downstairs,” Logan said as he took a cloth, draped it over the matchbox in Roman’s hand, and used it to carefully carry it to the window. He opened it. Tossed the matchbox outside and closed the window. Patton could smell smoke. He looked around for something to smother the flames. What was Logan thinking?_ What was he thinking_?

“Oh my god, oh my _god_,” Virgil’s acting abilities preceded him as he breathed heavily and wrung his hands. “The—hello? The fucking _house _is on fire! Someone—_our house is on fire! Please—_Stein and Jenkins Mortuary… I don’t know how… the fire—”

“And that’s enough,” Logan said as he took the phone and hung up. Patton’s palms started to sweat as Roman struggled to stand from his chair. Logan picked up something heavy. It looked like some kind of vase or pot. He looked at Patton. “In advance, I’d like to apologize.”

Patton blinked hard and took a nervous step back. “For… for what?”

“For this,” Logan stepped forward and swung the wave at him with more force than necessary. The vase collided with Patton’s skull. He felt the _crack _of bone and the bite of his teeth. The world swayed. Roman shouted. Smoke was filling the air. Thick and cloudy… or was that in Patton’s head? Patton stumbled… and the world went black.

“—atton!_ Patton! _C’mon, buddy, don’t do this to me…” Virgil’s voice was hoarse. His words were shaking. Patton opened his eyes slowly. The sky blushed with dawn… but smoke was clouding the colors. The flashing lights of police cars and firetrucks flickered off the dewy grass. Crowds of people were lining the street to watch the mortuary go up in flames. Patton sat up, feeling a cotton stretcher beneath him. He was cold. But his arms hurt. He looked down… and he saw burns along his forearms. Virgil was standing over him, his eyes wide and face smudged with soot as he reached out to touch him. “Are you okay?”

Patton blinked and held a hand to his aching head. “Wh… what happened with…” he looked around. “What on _earth _was Logan thinking? Where… where is he? _Why did he do that_?”

Virgil leaned back, his hand on Patton’s shoulder holding uncomfortably tight. “The fire… he said it was part of the plan. He _said _it was part of the plan.” He looked at Patton, pained and broken. “He’s _gone, _Pat. He… he went back in, trying to get Roman, b-but—” Virgil’s voice caught, and he turned away. Patton’s heart dropped to his stomach.

Logan went back in to save Roman… and never came back. That meant… Patton looked back at the mortuary, seeing the way it still blazed bright, even against the water and firefighters trying to combat it. The sun was coming up, and Virgil had nowhere to hide. Smoke filled the air, and Patton didn’t want to breathe. Logan was in there somewhere, burned among the floorboards. And Roman…

He would be burned, too. Dead for a second and final time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that plan sure went... _ up in smoke. _
> 
> I'm on tumblr @ misplaced-my-notes
> 
> See you next chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

Cold air cut through the sunlight of a new, bright day. Patton felt the sunlight streaming through the curtains. The room smelled like cinnamon… something earthy, too. Something Patton couldn’t quite define, but he didn’t exactly mind it. He sat on the sofa, stewing in his feelings while the time slowly ticked past. Against the far wall, Virgil was curled into a small chair, watching him.

A cup of tea was set in front of Patton, and he looked up to see Mr. Picani smile down at him. As if to explain, he said, “This should help with the shock. How are you feeling?”

Patton fumbled for words for a moment. “Rattled,” he said after a long moment. Emile gave him a pitying look, and Patton looked down at the steaming mug of tea. After a few more beats of silence, Patton added, “And sad.”

Taking a step back, Emile gave him a gentle smile. “Well, I can’t blame you. It must have been awful, your home burning down like that.”

“Thanks for letting us stay the night,” Virgil said from his chair by the wall. Patton nodded, too tired to actually voice his gratitude. Emile waved off the thanks and went back to the front room of his shop, saying they could call for him if they needed anything. It left Patton and Virgil all alone, the silence settling between them. Patton let out a tired breath, and Virgil shifted a little where he sat. “Hey. You know it’s not forever.”

Patton sat forward and took the mug of tea into his hands. It smelled fresh and filled with herbs. A little sharp on first sip, it went down smooth and Patton relaxed against the sofa. The sunlight felt nice on his neck. He almost wished Virgil could sit there with him. After another sip of tea, Patton nodded and said, “I know.”

“Logan had a plan, and… well, even if I don’t know the details, you know he wouldn’t do something crazy for no reason.”

Letting out a little chuckle, Patton tapped the rim of his cup tiredly. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I think you’ve been good for him, calming him down these past few months, but…” his gaze slid off to the right. “But I’m not sure he _wouldn’t _do something crazy.” His chest hurt as he said, “And… and Roman is gone… it doesn’t feel real.”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said after a beat of uncomfortable silence. Patton nodded just once, looking down into the depths of his cup while Virgil sat back and kicked his feet a bit. “Look, I don’t… there’s no guarantee what he had planned, and… I can’t make promises, but I bet you, more than anything, Roman is totally fine.”

Patton looked up at him. “What happened after Logan hit me? What did he do?”

Virgil blinked. “He told me to help you outside. He had to do something with some papers, I guess.”

“And he just… left Roman inside?” Patton asked, his heart aching where he sat back against the soft pillows. He felt a little bitter now, watching the way Virgil avoided his eye. “Roman couldn’t even walk on his own. He had to have known he wouldn’t be able to get out on his own.”

Virgil took a breath and shifted a bit. He stood up and prepared to come sit next to Patton, but with the sunlight marking a line along the floor, there was no way for him to get closer. So he lingered along the edge of the sunlight, looking at Patton with eyes that were shining oddly in the low light. “Look, Pat. If you knew Roman was okay, do you think you would have reacted the way you did?”

Patton blinked and gripped his mug. “Reacted…?”

“You cried,” Virgil said gently. “And screamed. And tried to rush back in. If you thought Roman was okay, would you have been able to lie to the cops?”

Sinking a little where he sat, Patton frowned. “No, I don’t think I— wait. _Is _Roman alright?”

Virgil fidgeted and took a step back. “Maybe? Probably. Honestly… he was just possessing the body. Even if it burned, he should still be fine, right?”

“I…” Patton looked down at his cup. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Yeah, well.” Virgil scuffed his foot on the floor quietly.

He looked small where he stood, like he was unsure of himself and didn’t quite fit where he stood. Patton could only look at him with pity. Even if Roman’s body _had _burned in the mortuary, his soul would still survive. But if Logan burned, then it was a final destination. He would be gone. And Virgil wasn’t even sure where he was… or if he was still alive.

Standing from the sofa, Patton went to the shaded part of the room and sat in one of the chairs. He pat the one next to him, and Virgil sat with him, a little smile on his face. He offered the tea, but Virgil declined, deciding to tuck his hands into his lap and look at the floor. Patton reached over to pat his knee.

“You… you really didn’t know what Logan had planned.”

Virgil shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I mean, he told us he was going to burn the mortuary, but like… I didn’t think he was gonna do it that fast.”

Giving him another pat on the knee, Patton was gentle as he murmured, “And you don’t know where Logan is?”

This time, Virgil smiled a little as he said, “No, but it’s not like he’s an idiot. In fact, he’d probably too smart for his own good.” He brought one leg up onto the chair, leaning his chin on his knee as he muttered, “I trust him. He said after this, we would head out and go somewhere new.”

Patton cocked his head to the side, an uneasy smile on his face. “Head out?”

“I’m guessing he means we’re going to move.” He gave Patton a sidelong look, his smile thin and words quiet as he said, “Maybe if we move, we’ll be able to live without all the drama for five minutes.”

For the first time in a while, Patton let out a genuine, tired laugh. “If that’s true,” he said, “I’d be very happy. Just to live our lives for a moment… even just a while would be nice. A little breather.”

Virgil leaned over to rest his head on Patton’s shoulder. They sat that way for a moment, calm but discomforted by the current turn of events. It was quiet and the air around them was warm with something akin to unhappiness. Even so, there was lingering hope. Hope that Logan and Roman would reappear. Hope that they could settle things and move away, going somewhere new. Would a new place mean they would be safe? Would a new place mean no more surprises? Patton leaned is head against Virgil’s, too tired to attempt a smile.

“They’re coming back, aren’t they?” He asked, his voice soft and shaky as Virgil leaned against him a little harder.

“Yeah,” Virgil promised, though he had no right to promise such a thing. “It’s gonna be okay. They’ll come back.”

Patton could only hope that was true.

+++++

_2 hours earlier_

Patton was wailing, scratching and clawing at firefighters by the flashing, bright lights of emergency vehicles. His eyes were wild. His voice was hoarse. He kept calling for Roman. Over and over. Virgil curled in on himself on the curb, head hung low and hood pulled up to avoid the oncoming sunlight. Next to him, the police lingered and muttered.

“You don’t think he was trying to—”

“A cover-up? Maybe. You saw that guy in the interrogation room.”

“Sociopath. Yeah,” there were several murmurs of agreement. “Total sociopath.”

There was a significant pause where all the officers looked at Patton. He’d been subdued and put on the back of an ambulance, a few shock blankets put around his shoulders. The burns on his forearms were being checked. The tears didn’t stop. He shivered where sat. Virgil looked away.

“Poor guy,” one of the cops said. Virgil grimaced and texted Remy for help. He couldn’t sit out in the sun. The police kept talking and Virgil regretted the fact that he could hear them loud and clear. “They never saw it coming.”

“Think he was trying to get all of them?” One asked. They all went quiet and looked at Virgil. He made a point to ignore them, and the officer said, “Probably thought he could get rid of other witnesses. Set up a perimeter. I don’t want this bastard getting out of town.”

Virgil rolled his eyes; even if they _did _set up a perimeter, it wouldn’t do them any good. Logan would be long gone. _If _he was still alive. Virgil frowned and texted Logan.

**Where r u?**

Logan _hated _it when he used texting shorthand. Normally it was enough to garner a text that corrected his improper spelling. He waited for a response. The seconds ticked past. The sun grew lighter. No one emerged from the still-burning wreckage of the mortuary. Neither Roman nor Logan. The garage was on fire, too. And with it, the car. Virgil tried again.

**Logan. Was this part of ur plan?**

Nothing. Logan was an abnormally slow texter. Virgil knew he should give him some slack. He’d only purchased a cell phone after Virgil coerced him into it. And even then, it had been an old, dingy model. Logan liked it though. He’d said it was ‘practical.’ And they had texted just a few times before… Virgil frowned and looked at the house.

The house, the mortuary; a business, a home… and now it was gone. Smoking and clouding the quickly lightening sky as Virgil turned his phone over and over in his hands. He wanted to comfort Patton. To go over to him and promise that everything was okay. But he didn’t know. _He didn’t know_, and it was driving him nuts.

Did he trust Logan? Of course he did. But had Logan betrayed that trust before? Yes. Yes, he had when he had run off and delivered himself to Annaliese on a silver platter. Now Virgil was rocked in the aftermath, fighting to believe what Logan had told him. He would set the house on fire and they would disappear. They would disappear _together_. All of them. As a group. He wouldn’t leave Virgil like this.

Would he?

After he’d hit Patton over the head with that damn vase, Virgil had watched as Patton crumbled to the floor. Roman had lunged at Logan angrily – still too weak to be coordinated – and Logan took his arm, making him follow-through and run head-first into the wall. Roman fell like a sack of bricks.

_“Help Patton outside,” _Logan had told him, all-business and no room for argument. The house had been filling with smoke. Virgil hooked Patotn’s arm over his shoulders and heft him up. Surely, he saw Logan do the same with Roman… at least, he thought he did.

The casket show-room was filled with flames. Virgil could hardly see where he was going as he reached the bottom of the stairs. It was hot. Too hot to breathe properly. He coughed, wheezing as his eyes watered from the acrid smoke. Patton slipped from his shoulder a bit, but Virgil hoisted him back up. He reached the door, spilling out onto the front lawn with Logan right behind him.

He had been right there. Virgil should’ve grabbed him. He should have pulled him close and _demanded _that he not go anywhere.

Instead, Virgil dragged Patton to the curb and laid him on the grass. In the distance, he could hear sirens squalling. Their neighbors across the street were out on their front lawns, hands over their mouths in dramatic shows of concern. But they made no move to help. They didn’t jump to help Virgil or Logan. They just watched the flames lick higher.

When Virgil had turned back, Roman was nowhere to be seen. Logan took his shoulders, looked him in the eye, and said, “_Don’t run back in for me.”_ It was a sickening order. Virgil wanted to ask why. He couldn’t catch his breath. Logan kissed him hard and raced back into the burning mortuary.

_“Holy—Logan!” _he had shouted, taking a hesitant half-step forward as he screeched, _“Logan, stop! What—”_

With a loud _CRACK,_ the gas-main under the house exploded and erupted with flames. Virgil was thrown back with the force of it, falling back onto the grass as he coughed and gasped. Across the street, people shouted in alarm. Finally, after playing the tourists, they jumped into action, melting across the street and running to Virgil’s side.

They pat him down, smothering flames that had bloomed on his sleeves. He didn’t even notice them. He was looking at the house. The house that was devoid of windows, a front door, and loosing ground to the ash that worked its way up the wood-siding.

_“Don’t run back in for me_,” he had said. So simple. So devoid of emotion. Virgil was shaking. Next to him, people were shouting that Patton needed medical attention. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the flames. “_Don’t run back in_,” Logan’s voice echoed in his head. Just a second later. A breath closer, and Virgil would have gone up in flames, too. “_Don’t run_.”

Now, Virgil was scowling at the asphalt road with a trembling lip. He wanted Logan back. He wanted to believe he was okay. But after that explosion? How _could _he be in one piece? How could he have gotten out of that fire unscathed? And where the hell was Roman?

“Virgil?” A soft voice cut through the noise. Virgil didn’t lift his head. The sun was too high. If he tilted his head back, his face would burn. Burning, burning, it knew no end. Instead, he looked at the shoes that approached him. Soft, brown penny-loafers. Khaki pants. The shoes stopped in front of him, paused, and then pivoted to face the police officers. Emile Picani was quiet as he said, “If you don’t mind, I think… I think I’ll take Mr. Sanders home with me.”

The police stiffened. “We have questions.”

“And he’s been through a fair shock this morning, don’t you think?” Emile was scolding but soft. A gentle, fatherly tone that made Virgil think of a kindergarten teacher. No, softer… maybe a school counselor. “These men hardly survived that fire. They need to feel safe. Please, let me take him and Mr. Jenkins home. Let them settle down.”

There were a few considerably irritated mumbles, but after a moment, an officer robotically said, “We’ll reach out within the next day or so. We need to start an investigation.”

Emile Picani sounded satisfied. “Thank you, gentlemen.” His shoes approached Virgil again. “Virgil? My car is just over here… can I give you a hand? Will you let me touch you?”

Not bothering to say anything, Virgil stood. He saw the chest of Emile’s sweater-vest. He saw the arms open for an embrace. He didn’t take it. Emile gestured off to the right, and Virgil shuffled along next to him.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I parked facing west. We should be able to get you home burn-free.”

Virgil blinked and glanced over at the ambulance. “Patton…”

“He’s in the car already.”

Virgil frowned, looking at Emile as sunlight shone hot on his back. “How… how did you know that…?”

Emile looked at him softly, a hint of pity in his eyes as he said, “Mr. Stein called me about twenty minutes ago. He said you might need a place to stay for the day.” He glanced at the still-burning house. “I didn’t think he meant anything like… like _this_.”

“Yeah,” Virgil muttered as he crawled into Emile’s old car. “Me neither.”

“Buckle-up, boys,” Emile got behind the wheel, sent them a short look in the rear-view mirror, and started up the car. “We’ll be home in just a minute.”

“Roman,” Patton murmured, his eyes glassy and arms cloaked in bandages that were tinged a graying-pink. He looked like an empty soda bottle with all the fizzy, sweet drink poured out; he was left with tired, dented plastic. The car was quiet, and again, Patton whispered in a trembling voice, “Ro… Roman… I just… got him _back_, and now…”

Virgil leaned against him, his head on Patton’s shoulder as he said, “I’m sorry, Pat.” Patton said nothing. Emile drove with a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. Patton took a shuddery breath and sniffled. Virgil knew he was crying again. There was nothing he could say. No promise that things had gone the way Logan planned. In his pocket, his phone was silent. No messages from Logan. Virgil pressed his lips together in a thin line, denying his tears the chance to fall as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Patton.”

+++++

It wasn’t long before the police came looking for someone to blame. They scoured the woods behind the mortuary. They dusted all available things for prints, looking for anything that would point them toward something definitive in the case. They found the matchbox outside in the cemetery, just as Virgil knew they would. They found fingerprints on them, just as Logan had planned.

But Roman Prince was not on any police record. So they were back to the drawing board, muttering and scratching through the dirt like angry, hungry foxes. Virgil heard all about this from Remy, who was live-texting him every little bit of the investigation like he was being paid to do so.

Really, Virgil knew that it was Remy’s attention for danger that drew him close. He flirted with police officers the way Logan had been flirting with the investigation; with too much bite and not enough bark. But he went on, nonetheless, skirting around the police-tape and taking candid selfies in the afternoon sun. Most of them involved a policeman looking at him oddly.

That’s where Patton and Virgil were three days after the fire, sitting and idly muttering about Remy’s texts as they came through. Three whole days since their life, their home… it had just gone up in smoke. Smoke and ash and… it wasn’t like they were broken. They were just… shaken. So they simply stayed where they were, sleeping on Emile’s sofa and holding each other together as best they could. They minutes dragged into hours and hours lasted years. No word came from Logan and Roman didn’t reappear.

So what if Virgil heard Remy getting up to leave that morning? So what if he asked Remy to check the site of the fire? It wasn’t a crime if he just took a quick peak. He wasn’t afraid of what Remy might find. In perfect honesty, Virgil was _terrified_. He didn’t want to believe that Logan left htem behind. That the fire didn’t go as planned. That something in his “flawless” script just went awry and they were left in the aftermath, struggling to put the pieces together. Logan and Roman weren’t dead. They weren’t. Couldn’t be.

Virgil’s phone buzzed and he glanced at the phone.

**Fucked up boy… this yours?**

[**Photo Attachment]**

He downloaded the photo and caught his breath. It was Roman. At least, it was Roman’s body. Limbs were a tangled mess and blood was everywhere. Red blood was smeared across his shirt and his pants… even his brown curls had been matted with it. Virgil frowned; those were the same clothes that Emile had gifted the body before they brought him home. It looked like someone had torn out his throat and left him to bleed in the grass. It was violent. It was messy. It was very unlike the Logan that Virgil knew and loved.

“What is it?” Patton asked from across the room. He was mending a hole in one of Emile’s socks to pass the time. He needed something to do with his hands, apparently. And now Virgil was looking at him, alarmed, and Patton set the sewing aside. “Something wrong?”

Virgil fidgeted. “Uh…” He could tell the truth. He could tell Patton that a body had been found. He could say that Roman had been torn apart and was very, _very _dead in the grass. But… if that was the case, then where was Roman? A wraith possessing a body… it wasn’t as if he was really, truly alive again. Virgil frowned. Was it? He knew very little about homunculi and magic. Patton was giving him a worried look. Virgil shifted and looked at his phone. “They, uh… the police found a body.”

Patton twitched. “A body.”

“Yeah, um… it… I’m like… 99% sure it’s Roman.”

Patton blinked once… twice… and then a third time, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. Maybe he thought he could just open his eyes and it would all be a bad dream. Virgil wanted that to be true. He wanted to wake up and have Logan laying beside him, real and warm and comfortable. But he wasn’t there. They were stuck in this inconvenient reality. Patton looked down at his lap and made a soft, thoughtful noise.

“If the body is dead… then…” Patton looked up and met Virgil’s eye curiously. “Then… where is _Roman_? His… his soul, I mean. It wasn’t like he was trapped in that body. He wouldn’t be silly enough to stick around and let himself be killed in it.”

Virgil shifted a bit, making an odd noise as Emile stepped into the room with a handful of envelopes and a stern expression on his face. Virgil greeted him, and it almost seemed like Emile hadn’t heard him… not until Emile handed him an envelope with his name on it. Virgil gave it an odd look. It was Logan’s handwriting. Written to Virgil… but at Emile’s address. He stared at Emile, who merely shrugged.

“Seems like he knew you’d be here,” he said, waiting for Virgil to take the letter. He did, and Emile let out a tired sigh. “That man… he could have just left it with me. Suppose that would’ve been _too easy_…” he should his head and wandered back out into the store.

Once Emile had passed through the doorway, Virgil tore open the envelope. A simple paper was folded inside… Virgil tipped it out, and a worn, bronze key fell into his palm. He gave it a long look. It was a simple key. One that would fit into any door in any building… like the key to the front door of the mortuary. He frowned and opened the letter.

“What is it?” Patton asked, standing from his seat to stand over him as he read. Virgil’s fingers gripped the paper tight. Patton put a hand on his shoulder. “What does it say?”

_ My dearest, Virgil,_

_ Four years ago, I took out an apartment in Patton’s name, were anything to happen to the mortuary. It seems my forethought was well precedented. I would like you and Patton to take refuge there until the case is settled and the rough waters are smoothed._

_ The address is…_

Virgil shook his head fondly and handed the key to Patton, who gave the object a confused look.

“I…” Patton’s hand curled around the key, still baffled. “I never knew. I never… he’s had this apartment for four years? I never… never knew.”

“I think that was the point,” Virgil said after a moment. He returned to the letter.

_I will be suspected of murder. I will be investigated. My name will forever be on public record unless something is done to combat the progression of the case. I will do what is required to keep that from happening, regardless of rules or regulation. There will be no record of me._

_ Apologize to Mr. Picani on my behalf. Promise him compensation if he so desires it._

_Yours,_

_Logan_

Frowning, Virgil handed the letter off to Patton. He went to find Emile, seeing him shuffling around glass vials on his shelves with a tired look. No, maybe not tired… he looked almost… _frustrated_. Virgil blinked; compensation for Mr. Picani. He huffed. Logan had _stolen _something.

“Hey, uh… Mr. Picani?” He started, rubbing his arm awkwardly as Emile continued to move things around the shelves irritably.

“You can call me Emile. You know that, Virgil.”

Virgil didn’t waste any time. “Logan took something.” Emile’s hands on the vials stopped, and his shoulders tensed. “Didn’t he?”

After a few, thoughtful seconds, Emile’s hands fell and he turned away from the shelf. He looked around the shop – probably seeing if there were any other customers inside – before he looked at Virgil. His eyes… had they always been gold? How had he never noticed in the years that he’d known Remy and visited the shop? How could he not notice the magic, the mystery, the shining light in those irises? Emile blinked, and the spell snapped and shattered. Virgil almost looked away.

“Yes,” Emile said after a moment, “Yes, he did.”

“What did he take?” Virgil took a step forward, and Emile raised his eyebrows. “What was it?”

Emile’s eyes softened… and he went to the front desk, opening a drawer and producing a box of cards. Virgil made a face; tarot cards? Emile didn’t take all of them out… just a select few. He shuffled as he spoke. “You know, when he came to see me… to order the homunculi, I mean… he didn’t bring you.”

He set down a card. Virgil read the curling script at the bottom. The Lovers. Emile smiled down at them, took them back into his hand carefully, and tucked them back into the deck. He shuffled again.

“He did that on purpose,” Emile said as he shuffled absently. His eyes were trained on the front windows of the shop, starting into the distance as the cards fell through his fingers. “He said something about deniability.”

Virgil shuffled his foot and leaned against the desk tiredly. “Yeah, he told me that, too. Deniability.”

Another card was set on the table. Virgil recognized the word Temperance… but the card was upside down. Emile left it there for a minute, side eying Virgil carefully.

“You’re nervous,” Emile said with a gentle tone. “You’re trying to be confident… for Mr. Jenkins, I assume?”

Virgil shifted where he stood, a little unnerved by the knowing tone in Emile’s voice. “Well… yeah. I want to… I mean, I _do _trust Logan, I just…”

“You don’t know what he’s planning,” Emile murmured, still soft and so damn tender. “You’re afraid that you won’t like the answer.”

Turning away, Virgil leaned his back against the desk as he frowned. “I’m not… _not _scared, I guess. I just wish he’d _told _me. It’s not the first time he’s left me in the dark.”

Emile quirked an eyebrow when the Fool looked at him from its position in reverse. Virgil hadn’t seen it. That was fine. He slipped the Fool back into the deck.

“So he misleads you often?” Emile said, posing it as a question to soften the blow. Virgil didn’t take the softness, though. He looked hurt regardless.

“I mean… he told a lie before?” Virgil said, his fingers trailing along the hardwood surface of desk as he spoke. “But… I know why he did it.”

Emile stared down at the Hermit. It was smiling at him. A request, or a sign? He glanced back at Virgil. “Oh?”

“He was trying to save me,” he said, still frowning where he stared down at his feet. Virgil felt something gross bubble in the bit of his stomach. Maybe discomfort, maybe fear… it was sticky and oily and made him feel nauseous. “He tried to just… give himself up so we would be safe.”

Emile quirked an eyebrow; was _that _what happened those few weeks ago? Was that why ghouls had been running rampant? Why Virgil had been changed? Carefully gliding his hands over the desk, Emile fanned out the major arcana on the wooden surface, staring down at the backs of the cards with a tired, almost weary smile.

“And now here you are,” Emile said, tapping his fingers against the cards. To take one or leave one, he wasn’t quite sure. Not yet. Virgil looked at him, and Emile smiled. “Well… you weren’t always a vampire, Virgil. It’s an interesting coincidence that, to save your life, he _ended _it.”

Virgil recoiled from the statement. “I… he didn’t. I…” Virgil pause, shuffling the toe of his shoe against the floor as he muttered, “It was my fault. I… I went after him.”

Emile winced. “So…”

“I got myself killed. If… if I had let Logan go alone, I wouldn’t have…” he chewed his lip for a minute, reaching up to comb his fingers through his purple-dyed hair a few times. When his hand dropped back down, there was a new expression on his face. Anxiety had melted away like the snow that had fallen overnight, and he looked steely in repose. “But, if I _hadn’t _gone, then Logan would be dead.”

Emile’s hand stopped over a card and turned it. Strength was calm at it stared up at him… and he smiled. “Two wrongs don’t make a right, I suppose.”

“Nah,” Virgil shrugged, his cold expression cracking to reveal something lighthearted and hopeful. At the end of the table, Emile’s palm rested over the Lovers, warm and careful as Virgil glanced at him. “Logan said he would pay you back for whatever he took.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no…” Emile stepped back and shook his head as he gathered up his tarot cards and put them back into the desk. “Consider it a wash. Water under the bridge.”

Virgil made a face at that and he opened his mouth to say something – probably insist that he pay for the vial that Logan had stolen – but the front door of the shop swung open and the bell _dinged_ as two police officers walked inside. Emile pasted on a fake smile, but Virgil seemed to shrink where he stood, becoming very, very small for a young man of impressive height.

“Officers,” Emile said warmly, he cocked his head to the side and kept his tone concerned. “How is the investigation? Any leads?” One of the officers frowned as she reached back and tugged Remy through the door. Emile’s smile drooped. “Oh dear.”

Remy raised his hand and wiggled his fingers loosely. “_Hey_, Uncle Emile.” Rounding the front desk, Emile wrung his hands as Remy was shoved further into the shop. He met him halfway, taking Remy’s arm and holding it tight. Remy glared at him and grumbled, “_Ow_.”

“Not a _word _from you,” Emile hissed before looking at the officers. “I… I’m so sorry, he didn’t cause you any trouble, did he?”

“No trouble,” one officer said tiredly, her eyes sharp as she glared at Remy. The other officer smiled at him, but that was neither here nor there. Her voice cut through the air as she looked past Emile… it seemed she spotted Virgil. “Mr. Sanders?”

Virgil’s voice, just like his stance, was very small as he muttered, “Yeah?”

“We’ve made several discoveries in the case. We would like to speak with Mr. Jenkins,” she said, her voice softening word-by-word as she stepped past Emile and Remy with her hat tucked under her arm. Virgil blinked, his face lighting up for a moment.

“Did you… did you find him?” He asked, his tone painfully hopeful. Emile glanced back at him; Virgil’s acting skills were impressive, given the pressure he was under. Despite the hard, stone eyes of the officer, he managed to fumble with his hands and look genuinely optimistic as he said, "Did you find Logan?”

The officer looked away. Virgil’s face fell. Emile’s expression wavered; there was so much to this he didn’t understand. So many details fitting into place that he couldn’t see. He _could _perform a reading and see into the officer’s mind… but that would take time and effort that he didn’t have at his disposal. Instead, he looked at Remy (who was making _very _inappropriate eyes at the male officer by the door) and tugged him closer.

“What did you do?” Emile asked, giving the officer a sheepish grin as he steered Remy toward the corner of the shop. Remy went willingly, making a ‘_Text Me’ _gesture before the officer was out of sight behind the shelves. Emile held him steady, looking Remy in the eye as he said, “Remy, sweetheart, this is _very _important.”

Remy rolled his eyes. “_Ugh_, I _know_.”

Cupping Remy’s face, Emile pushed Remy’s glasses down and forced their eyes to meet. “No, don’t use that tone with me. This is serious.”

Clearly unnerved, Remy swallowed thickly. “I know.”

“Why were you following the police officers?” Emile asked, his voice low and deliberate as something sparked between his eyes and Remy’s. There was truth, there. A hidden fear. A hint of… _something_ that wasn’t quite his nephew. Emile latched onto that something and held tight. “Remy… you were out of the house before I woke up. That _never _happens.”

“Had to be there,” Remy said, his voice a little hollow as their connection held. Emile could feel him searching, too. Scraping through emotion and clouded judgement. Maybe he was trying to make sure Emile wasn’t trying to charm him. The lack of faith almost hurt… but Remy wouldn’t be wary without a reason. Emile frowned, and Remy repeated, “I had to be there.”

Emile was gentle. Just a slight prod as their eyes shone in tandem. “Why? _Why _did you have to be there?”

“To leave something,” Remy said, his expression slack and eyes flickering with words that meant _nothing _to him. Emile almost stepped back. He’d been charmed. A thrall like this… it was a deep-lingering kind of magic. The kind that only something with long-held understanding of magic could manage. Logan Stein had charmed his nephew right under his nose. “Had to… put this on the note.”

Remy placed something in Emile’s hand. A small vial that was completely devoid of powder. Emile blinked at the label and hissed, _“Remy!_ This much Bolivian pavin-powder could wipe the memories of a small city! What were you—” He stopped, took a breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is that all?”

Remy blinked a few times and adjusted his glasses. He looked irritated, but Emile couldn’t blame him. Rifling around in someone’s subconscious wasn’t exactly a _polite _thing to do. “First of all, _rude_. Second of all, _yeah_? That’s all. Just had to sprinkle a little on the paper. Like, what’s the big deal?”

Emile spoke through clenched teeth, “This is a _murder_ investigation.”

Remy shrugged. “Yeah, but like… I didn’t do it. So…”

“You were tampering with police evidence. How did you…” he looked down at the empty vial, then back to his nephew. “What note?”

“The note,” Remy said with a vague gesture. “You know. _The note._ The… fucking… it said somethin’ like, uh…” he blinked, looking more than a little confused as he said, “Wait…”

Heaving a tired sigh, Emile put a hand on Remy’s shoulder and gave it a firm pat. “Remy, my boy… you haven’t been keeping up on your mental exercises. Your mind is _very _susceptible to influence.”

“Why would I?” Remy said with a baffled look. “No one besides us can, like, do the magic stuff.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Emile tucked the glass vial into his pocket and kissed Remy’s hair. “You are very, _very _wrong.”

+++++

_ Roman felt ridiculously tired; this wasn’t a new concept to him. He’d been tired for over a hundred years. But sleeping didn’t seem right. Not now. No, he didn’t want to sleep. Not with Patton far away from him and Logan next to him, watching the smoldering remains of the mortuary hiss and smoke. Below the forest, firefighters and police were scouring the cemetery for evidence._

_ “It was uncalled for,” Roman said after a long moment of silence between them. Logan turned to give him a tired look, and Roman crossed his arms over his chest. “Slamming my face into the wall. It was uncalled for.”_

_ “Given a moment of rational thought, I think you’ll find that was perfectly called for,” Logan said calmly. He was scribbling something down on a piece of paper, looking up every moment or so to see the progression of the police search. Roman huffed, and Logan said, “Honestly, Roman. I hit Patton over the head with a vase. You weren’t going to let me do that without some sort of retaliation.”_

_ “And I _would have _retaliated,” Roman muttered unhappily. “If I were a bit stronger.”_

_ Logan gave him a hard look and returned to his note. Ink was dripping from the half-melted pen, and it was staining his fingers as he wrote. “Luckily, you are still very weak.”_

_ Roman glared at him from where he was propped against a tree, his legs crossed and arms limp at his sides as the trees clouded with smoke and Logan squinted at his paper. He sighed. “I don’t understand.”_

_ “I’m sure that applies to many facets of your afterlife.”_

_ “Shut up, you Petty Dreadful,” Roman snapped, took a breath – breathing was still a marvel – and let his head lean back against the tree trunk. “I’m trying to ask a question.”_

_ Logan licked his lips and scratched his eyebrow as he reread what he wrote. He didn’t seem satisfied, but looked to Roman nonetheless. Their eyes met and Logan blinked slowly. “Roman, I’m not Patton. I don’t care for your doe-eyes.”_

_ Roman chuckled. “Bold of you to assume these are my doe-eyes. No, no, no… I leave those for my darling Patton. You don’t get to see my doe-eyes.”_

_ Rolling his eyes, Logan huffed. “Are you going to pose your question or not?”_

_ Roman’s smile fell as his eyes slid over to the smoldering house. “I know why you need a body, Logan. You need a final victim. You need _someone _to take the fall.”_

_ “That’s correct.”_

_ Roman’s gaze flickered back to him. “What I _don’t _understand is why you needed _two _bodies.”_

_ Logan looked down at his ink-stained fingers and frowned. “Are you asking why I want to offer a second chance at life?”_

_ “No. I’m asking why _you _want to offer a second chance at life.”_

_ Logan made a face at him. “I don’t follow.”_

_ Roman managed to bring a sore, heavy hand up to brush hair from his eyes as he said, “Your usual reaction to me is a stiff eyebrow raise or a scoff. The fact that you went out of your way to procure a body for me to possess… going to such lengths to _bring me back_… forgive me for not understanding your motivation.”_

_ Shifting where he sat on the grass, Logan’s expression softened when he said, “What did you say to me? Before I went to see Annaliese?” A smile ghosted over Roman’s lips, and Logan murmured, “You said: all this to learn that I have a heart.”_

_ “Oh, Mister Stein,” Roman said gently. “You’ve gone soft.”_

_ “Perhaps.” Logan paused, then added, “Probably. Most likely.”_

_ “I know how it started,” Roman said as he tapped the top of his thighs calmly. “It started with Virgil. He’s changed you.” Logan gave him a bemused, sidelong look, and Roman smiled. “For the better, my good man. For the better.”_

_ “I’d like to assume so,” Logan murmured. Standing up, Logan dropped his letter on the grass and rolled up his sleeves. He gave Roman a long look, his eyes lingering on his neck before he said, “I hate having to make a mess… but we aren’t exactly endowed with many other options.”_

_ Roman sighed and spread his arms wide. “Well, well... be gentle, Mr. Stein. I’m still so _delicate_.”_

_ Logan’s expression turned pinched. “And our moment of comradery is over.”_

_ “Just do it, Logan,” he said, tired and resigned. He looked up, where Logan stood over him, a dark, dark silhouette outlined in mornings’ light. He saw the flash of something in those eyes. Something frightened. Almost painfully childish in its uncertainty. Roman closed his eyes. “Not every man gets to die twice.”_

+++++

The officer – Miranda, it would seem – was very polite. She was gentle. She broke the news to Patton that Roman was, indeed, dead. Mauled by a wild animal when he tried to escape the fire. He’d left a note. One that was still bagged as evidence and speckled with blood, but one that she let him read nonetheless.

_My dearest, Patton,_

_ I was born with the devil in me. When I made this choice, this life, I knew it would lead to death. I killed those children. I would do it again. A thousand times again._

_ When you reach the gates of Heaven, I will not walk beside you. Even so, I love you._

_ And love from a creature like me is worth nothing but pain._

Patton had wept, clinging to the note and sobbing against the plastic bag that protected it. Virgil could only watch, his mind foggy and palms sweating as Officer Miranda reached out and touched Patton’s shoulder. Just a single touch. One to convey pity… but it didn’t reach her eyes. Not quite. She was still uneasy, looking for any sign that Patton knew about… well, about any of it.

Roman’s letter, the body, the murders… honestly, Virgil knew that Patton was in the dark. They all were. No one knew what Logan had been planning, least of all Patton. He was just distraught that this was the last thing he had of Roman. And, from the sound of it, it didn’t seem like _Roman _had been the one to write it. Sure it was flowery, but it was also _cryptic_. And slightly pretentious. That sounded more like Logan than anyone else.

Which _had _to mean something.

“Mr. Jenkins,” Miranda sad gently. “I’m very sorry, but we have to ask… was there _any _way you could have known about the murders? Any unusual behavior or changes in his daily routine?”

Patton looked up from where he held the letter to his chest, eyes red and puffy as he gasped and tried to reign himself in. “_No_,” he said sharply. “No, he wasn’t… he was… he was a good man! He wouldn’t… I can’t… can’t believe he…”

Virgil shifted on the sofa a bit, drawing his feet close as he said, “You know, he…” all eyes snapped to him, and he ducked his chin. “I thought… something was weird? About him and the basement?” He glanced at Patton, seeing the look of blank confusion in his eyes. He pressed the matter. “He… said it was like his private area. Didn’t want us in there.”

Officer Miranda raised an eyebrow. “And you never went in?”

Virgil shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck as he muttered, “No, I… Jesus, I really _should _have. If… if I had, would… would Amanda still be…?”

Miranda and her partner who had yet to introduce himself apologized. They said they needed to update their case files. They said they were sorry for Patton’s loss… told him he wasn’t to blame… that it had all been a psychological mistake… and Virgil waited for them to mention Logan.

But they never did. Not even a word.

They didn’t even say his name as they took back Roman’s “confession” note and tucked it away. They didn’t say anything about how he had disappeared. They didn’t say any body was discovered in the fire. For all intents and purposes, it was like Logan didn’t exist anymore. That made Virgil uneasy. Logan said they would go together. That when they disappeared, it would be as a group.

So, where was he?

“Hey, uh…” he trailed the officers back into the shop, seeing the way Emile eyed them uneasily from between the shelves. Against the front window, Remy was sipping an iced tea and giving him an interesting look. He turned back to Miranda. “What about Logan?”

Officer Miranda looked at him as she put her hat back on. “Logan?”

Virgil felt something twinge in his stomach; hunger? No, not really. Couldn’t be. He’d eaten some crackers that Emile offered him. He didn’t want to bite Officer Miranda either. So what was this nail-biting, stomach-turning, heart-aching tug in him? He tucked his shaking hands into the pocket of his hoodie, he said, “Logan Stein. My…” he paused, then said, “My ex.”

Remy nearly lurched away from the window as he squawked, “Holy _shit, _girl! When the _fuck _did _that _happen?”

Virgil ignored that. “He… he went back into the house. You…” he shifted his weight between his feet uneasily. “You haven’t said… anything… about him.”

Miranda and her partner exchanged a look. One that was mutually confused. There was no glimmer of recognition or understanding. Behind him, Virgil felt Emile reach out and touch his wrist. A gentle sign. There was nothing that he could do. There was a limit to what these officers knew… and that was by design. _Logan’s _design. A tight knot of worry in Virgil’s chest beneath to loosen.

“I’m sorry,” Officer Miranda said after a long moment. She took out a pen and paper, ready to take notes as she said, “We haven’t heard of a… Logan, was it? If you give us a description, we can—”

“No,” Virgil said, recoiling and backing himself into Emile’s chest. Emile didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he put a safe arm around Virgil’s shoulder and gave him a supporting squeeze. Virgil stayed hunched there as he said, “No… it’s… you know what? He probably just skipped town. Messy break-up. You know how it is.”

“Given the circumstances, I can understand why you’re uneasy.” Miranda still had her pen out, _click, click, clicking_ it as she looked at Virgil. “When was the last time you saw him?”

Virgil hesitated… and then lied. “Two days ago. Just after the fire. I thought… it was probably just my brain, though. Going crazy.”

“Adrenaline,” Emile chirped helpfully, and Virgil nodded. “Adrenaline probably made you think you saw him.”

With a curious look, Miranda gave Virgil another nod. “Just give us a call if anything comes up. Again, our condolences to Mr. Jenkins.”

“Thanks,” Virgil muttered, though the word felt odd on his tongue. The bell above the door rang as it swung shut, and Virgil turned to see Patton step into the shop, still wiping tears from his eyes. “Hey, Pat… how’re you holding up?”

Patton looked at him, and it was startling to see his eyes hard and cold. “I know that letter wasn’t from Roman,” he said, his voice even and low. The redness of his eyes was misleading. This wasn’t a man in grief… he was _angry_. “I _know _that Logan sent that letter and he’s keeping us in the dark.”

Virgil blinked and gave Emile a helpless look. Unfortunately, Emile was at a loss for words. “Well… well, _yeah_, Pat. He didn’t tell us because… well, if we knew the truth, you wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret from the cops. You know you can’t lie to save your life.”

Patton’s jaw worked furiously before he said, “Lying is wrong.”

“And you’re a man of strong moral fiber!” Emile said brightly, clearly trying to smooth the waters as his eyes flicked between Virgil and Patton. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with that,” Patton snapped. The shop went quiet, and even Remy stopped tapping at his phone, choosing to give Patton an interesting look over the rims of his sunglasses. After a leveling breath, Patton adjusted his glasses and said, “That damn misbegotten son of a two-face dog is _hiding_ things, and I want to know where Roman is.” He reached into his pocket and procured Logan’s letter to Virgil, holding it up like some sign of evidence with one hand as the other held the brass key to his mysterious apartment. “And I’ll be damned if I don’t find out for myself.”

Virgil rubbed his arm guiltily, which was odd… he had nothing to be guilty for. He didn’t know what Logan had been planning. They had been in the dark together. Even so, seeing Patton like this was odd. And made him feel dark and twisty inside. He watched Patton head for the door and reached for him, almost like he could stop him if he tried hard enough.

“Let—let me come with you,” he said, managing to snag Patton’s wrist before he stepped into the sunlight that streamed through the large shop windows. Patton paused and looked back at him, his eyes watery and emotional despite his sharp words. Virgil looked at him, and Patton’s hard exterior easily softened. He was putting on a brave face… but he was still the same underneath. He was scared and lonely. Virgil wasn’t enough… and Patton wasn’t enough for him, either. Holding his hand a bit, Virgil was gentle as he said, “Let me come, too. We should stick together.”

“I can’t just sit still, Virgil. I…” he gave Emile an apologetic look. “This is a wonderful shop, and you’ve been very accommodating, but… I can’t just sit on my hands anymore. It’s been three days and… and now there’s a body, _none _of the police know about Logan, and… and I still don’t know if he’s still here or not.” He looked at Virgil desperately. “And if Logan is hiding in this apartment, I want to go and give him my two cents.”

“Hey, that’s totally valid. I am 100% on your side. You want to scream at Logan? Be my guest. This was a total dick plan from the beginning.” Virgil squeezed his hand and Patton squeezed back. “_But_, you know I can’t go outside right now. Sun is high and facing this way… there’s not a real shadow for me to hide in.”

“I can’t wait, Virgil,” Patton said, his voice quivering. “I can’t… I can’t just—”

Emile stepped forward and put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “I think he should go on his own. Three’s a crowd.”

“Unless it’s the Three of Cups upright,” Remy grumbled. Emile waved that away and took a step back, pulling Virgil with him.

“Reunions are messy, botched arson-attempts aside.” He gave Virgil a sidelong look. “And you aren’t going to find what you want in that apartment.”

Virgil twitched. “Is that what your mystic magic mumbo-jumbo powers say?”

“Oh, no… it’s what my intuition says.” Emile gave him an amused smile before turning back to Patton. “Please, Mr. Jenkins, go ahead. We’ll keep Virgil in good company.”

“Thank you,” Patton breathed, his hands shaking as he went for the door. “Thank you again, for… for allowing us to stay, I… really we can’t thank you enough.”

“No thanks needed. Merry meet, Mr. Jenkins,” Emile assured him with that small, wary smile.

Virgil watched him go, his face turned to the sun and eyes so wrecked and emotional it almost hurt to see. Emile’s next words rung in the air. The same words he spoke to Logan, three nights before. There was a tone to them, one that spoke volumes without having any room between the words for explanation.

Emile spoke, and Virgil watched his golden eyes glow. “I hope we never meet again.”

+++++

Logan watched her from a safe distance. Far enough to watch but not nearly close enough to touch. He wouldn’t want to touch her, even if he could. Charlotte was walking through the smoking shell of the mortuary. Her eyes scanning bits and pieces that used to be doorways, desks, or coffins for display. She glanced at the hanging, melted wiring of the electricals, and the smoldering husk that was the body-prepping room. She didn’t touch or take anything. She didn’t even seem entirely invested in the scene.

If anything, she moved with a calm, detached distance to the place. Like a tourist investigating a historical home with no curiosity as to why it was abandoned. Logan watched her, his back to the wall and expression passive as he looked down at her through a hole in the floor. When she climbed the stairs – old but still strong enough to support her weight – the fire-weakened boards groaned and creaked. She breeched the top of the stairs. She saw him by the wall. And despite the thousands of emotions flickering though her eyes as a ridiculous pace, she smiled.

“You know,” she said as she held her bag to her shoulder tightly. Not like it would protect her, but like she’d be lost without it. She gave him a tired look. “When I heard this place burned down and no one could find you? I figured it was too good to be true.”

Logan raised his chin and clasped his hands behind his back. “You’re not supposed to be here. This is a crime scene.” He gestured in a circle. “Didn’t you see the police tape?”

Charlotte laughed – no happiness in the sound, not even a fragment of joy – and carefully walked along the living room floor. “If I’m not supposed to be here, neither are you.”

“Haven’t you heard, Miss Fields?” Logan said, coy and icy. “I no longer exist. A nonexistent man can surely walk his own floors without repercussion.”

She snorted at that, only pausing her little tour when the floor creaked ominously. Boards were about to give in. One good collapse, and she would no longer be a problem. She stepped back, though, leaving Logan with a scowl on his face. She looked at him. “But you’re here. You can’t stay hidden forever.”

“You obviously haven’t met a vampire before.” She jolted at that, giving him a wide-eyed look, and he merely arched a single eyebrow. “Why are you here, Miss Fields?”

“Here?” She indicated to the floor, then waved her hand in the air vaguely, “Or ‘here’ as in the universe?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Why did you come _here_, to _my _mortuary. Why come looking for Patton?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Yes,” Logan snapped. “I think you do.”

She smiled at that, her expression tired as she rocked back on her heels. The floorboards creaked, and this time, she didn’t move. “Honestly, I just came to tie up loose ends. I figured… might as well see who changed our family line into something… monstrous.” She shrugged. “And every psychic I visited… every spiritualist and looked at his picture… they _knew _he was still alive.” She looked up at Logan. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“To exact revenge at your grandmother’s behest,” Logan offered bluntly. Charlotte laughed.

“Nah. Not really.” She looked through one of the windows. The glass had shattered from the heat, and now they had a lovely view of the forests beyond the property, dark and thick with night. She sighed. “She didn’t even care about Patton in the end. She was happy with my actual grandpa… the man she married.”

Logan’s face scrunched up as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Then why _are _you here, Miss Fields? Why accuse me of murder? What do you get from all this? What do you _gain_ from my imprisonment?”

She shrugged again. “You have that personality, Mr. Porter.”

“_Stein_,” he corrected.

She ignored him and walked toward the place where the kitchenette used to be. It had collapsed through the floor in an explosion of fire. She looked at the gaping hole in the floorboards quietly, only turning around when she said: “Sometimes you meet someone and go ‘I want to make their life a living hell.’ So that’s what I did.”

“That’s extremely weak reasoning to frame someone for murder,” Logan said sharply. Again, Charlotte laughed and waved the statement away.

“Can you blame a girl for wanting to go out with a bang? I mean, hey… it’s clear you’re not a real person,” she looked at him for a moment, and then her smile fell. She looked down at her own hands, quiet and thoughtful as she said, “I’m not a normal person either. We’re… nether-somethings. Whatever Patton said.”

Logan scowled; he wasn’t aware Patton had told her all of this. “Nether-creatures,” he said dully. She looked at him and smiled again, like the information was truly enlightening, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes.

“I wanted to get rid of you from the beginning,” she said after a solid minute of motionless staring. Logan didn’t even flinch. “I mean… if Patton hadn’t been taken away, maybe my mom would’ve had an easier childhood. Being half… nether-creature… doesn’t make life easy.”

“I would assume not,” said Logan. The floorboards shrieked under Charlotte and she took a step to the right. The sound stopped.

“I always thought,” she said, “That it came from him. Our weird issues started with the mysterious ‘Mr. Harvey’ and ended with me. And if he’d been around, maybe… maybe we would’ve been able to fight this.” She gestured to herself. “It’s not all bad, though! Look at me! I haven’t changed since I was twenty-one.” She paused for a while, then sighed, “I’m almost forty.”

“Congratulations,” Logan said dryly. She ignored that.

“I’m not stupid. I know I’m dying. I know what my mom was like before she died. I know how little time I have left.” She paused, her hands shaking as she looked at him. “I’m dying.”

Logan’s voice was soft. Gentle in a way he wasn’t sure he could manage. “Yes.”

She trembled a little, swallowing thickly as she looked around the mortuary. “I don’t… even know why I did what I did. Why I went to the police. I was just… so mad, I—” She laughed. “Why am I even here? _I don’t care about you_.” She shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “I never… cared… but then, there you were and I just—"

Logan stepped forward, keeping a few liberal steps between them. “You’re at the end of your rope, Miss Fields.” She looked at him, stricken and shaking. “You have nothing left. You’re desperate.”

She gripped her bag, her eyes wide and glistening. “You wanna know something?” She didn’t let him answer. “I’m scared.”

Logan nodded once. “Everyone is. There’s no creature, no living sentience on this earth, that doesn’t fear death.”

Charlotte laughed a little, her breath clouding in the cold night air as she held her bag to her side. “I… I’m not a person. Humans go to Heaven or Hell. But I’m not… _human_, am I?” Logan would love to introduce her to the concept of reincarnation, but he hardly had the time for that explanation. Instead, he watched her fidget as the house creaked and groaned around them. Charlotte lifted her head, looking up at him with frantic, frightened eyes. “I’m scared to know what happens to me,” she said, “When I die. Where do I go? What happens?”

Taking a deep, somber breath, Logan looked out the window and said, “As a person with nether-creature blood, you are bound to the netherworld. When you die, you will ultimately return to it.”

The air was quiet. Cold and crisp. Icy with oncoming winter and ready to snow. When Charlotte spoke, it was in a soft whisper. “So when I die, I go to some… Underworld place.”

“It’s not that simple,” Logan said, his eyes lingering on the starry sky. Was Virgil awake? Was he looking up at those stars? Was he safe? Warm? Logan missed him. He wanted to _hold _him. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, he turned to Charlotte and said, “When you die, your soul will be reclaimed by the netherworld. As such, you will see your mother once again. You will be guided to the next realm, where all nether-creatures belong.”

She looked up at him. “And then what?”

“Then you’re _home_, Charlotte. Death for humanity isn’t nearly so kind.” He looked at her, a long, tired sigh from his lips as he said, “Death for nether-creatures is merely a rebirth. You will be with your mother. You won’t be alone.”

Letting out a breathless laugh, Charlotte nodded. She sounded _relieved_. Was this all she wanted? Facts? Logan could have given those from the very beginning. It was so simple, this kind of comfort. And it didn’t matter that it came from Logan. It was just _words_. So many types of discomfort can be eased with words. It’s only the truly complex ones – the more human of discomforts – that can be eased without them.

That’s why, when Charlotte started to cry, Logan didn’t say anything. It wasn’t _about _words, now. It was just stress. Surely, dying was an ordeal. Logan wouldn’t know. He’d been dead from the moment he was born. Being a born nether-creature was a tricky existence. He couldn’t understand what Charlotte was feeling… why her motivations were skewed and mind a mess. Nor did he really want to.

Charlotte was, for an intents and purposes, simply a wreck of a human being. She was falling to pieces trying to put herself back together. She didn’t understand why the nether-creature blood in her body was trying to say. She didn’t know what it _wanted_. And now there she was, sobbing and falling forward into Logan, her fists tight in his jacket and head on his chest.

He was quiet. He let her cry. He remembered Annaliese, and how she wept. He remembered the way she wanted it all to ‘go away’ and how she wanted to make that idea a reality. She was going to kill him… and start fresh. It was almost a similar goal with Charlotte. She wanted something new. Some kind of hope. Perhaps Logan was in the way. Perhaps he’d made the mistake of catching her eye. What did it matter now? It didn’t.

The thoughts of a dead man mean very little to a dying woman.

“Okay,” she said after a few long, gasping moments. Logan raised an eyebrow as she leaned back. Taking several steps backward, she watched her feet carefully as the floors groaned and creaked. Her hands were shaking. Her eyes were still watery. She looked at him, and Logan wasn’t surprised to see her smile. She reached into her bag and produced a pistol. She aimed at Logan. “Okay.”

Logan raised his hands in surrender. What was _wrong _with this woman? He allowed her to cry on his shoulder like they were a cheap melodrama and she pulled a gun on him. He sighed inwardly; it was like dealing with a new generation of Carron’s. Would he ever be free of them?

“Are you scared?” She asked, her hand shaking on the gun. Logan watched her grip. It probably wasn’t strong. He could knock it from her grip. But if the gun went off anyway, there would be trouble. She shook more when she took a half-step forward and insisted, “_Are you scared?”_

“Yes,” Logan admitted without thought. Truly, he was scared. Not overly frightened, mind you. Just enough to put him ill-at-ease where he stood. Charlotte frowned as the house around them groaned and sighed.

“Why?” She asked. Logan raised an eyebrow, and Charlotte pointed her gun at him with more fervor. “Tell me why you’re scared!”

“Because I—” Logan paused, his mouth open as he wrestled with his thoughts. “I don’t want to die.”

“Why not?”

Logan gritted his teeth… then said, “Because Virgil won’t be there waiting for me.”

“Oh yeah?” Charlotte said, almost curious. “Virgil, the… the emo kid, right? The one with the funny purple hair.” Though he had a fair amount of things to say about that, Logan merely nodded. Charlotte ran her tongue over the front of her teeth, her hand still shaking as she cocked the gun. “When you die, you go to the Netherworld. Right?”

“Yes.”

“And Virgil isn’t there yet?”

Logan grimaced. “No.”

“Well,” Charlotte sniffled and wiped the tear-tracks from her cheeks. “Let’s give him something to look forward to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in time for the last bit of Día de Muertos.  
Take that as you will.
> 
> See you next chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

_10 hours earlier_

_ Logan deposited the body there, in the softness. It wasn’t much, but it was a good alternative to leaving Roman’s body cold and wet in the snow. This was better, in Logan’s mind, somehow. He would still be alone. But being dead and alone was better than being _freezing_, dead, and alone. Once Roman was laid out nicely – his limp hand still curled into a slight fist, like he could stop Logan – Logan turned away._

_ He was going home. Back to the mortuary. And, most likely, he was going to find Charlotte Fields. After two weeks of being terrorized by the women who rode in on a storm of ill-conceived motives, it was time to put an end to this madness. Come fire or come snow, Logan was through with this game._

+++++

Patton had never been to Florence Park. It was one of the nicest housing-districts in their area, dotted with trees that flowered in spring and sheltered the clean sidewalks in summer. They had elegant street lamps and old, lattice-work gates around the outside. Inside, it looked like a different world of neat, brick houses and glowing, golden lights.

He knew where to go, following the address on the letter and quietly ducking through the wide-open gates of the community, but it was still unnerving. _This _is where Logan took an apartment in his name? It was so nice. So fresh and clean. Why wouldn’t he want to live here, rather than the mortuary? Because he wanted to keep an eye on Patton? If that was the case, why not simply go with Patton to this apartment?

Maybe that’s what this all was. Logan using his flat to its fullest potential by arriving, setting up shop, and hiding away until the case blew over. It still irritated Patton though; it was in _his _name, wasn’t it? Why was he the last to know? Why was Logan so shut-up in his own head that he couldn’t be honest with them for five minutes? He was rude. He was thoughtless. Tactless.

And Patton was ready to give him a piece of his mind.

Patton paused as he reached a tall, brick building. The number on the paper matched the golden, metallic stencil over the doorway. He stepped inside, garnering an uninterested look from the young woman by the mailboxes. He didn’t even have the energy to smile at her. He simply went for the stairs and climbed to the third floor.

If Patton decided to yell at Logan, would he listen? He _was _Logan after all. He was high and mighty at times… but things had started to change ever since Virgil came to stay with them. And, oh, Patton _adored _Virgil. He was a good kid, warm and funny… prickly, but in a way that complimented Logan. Thoughtful, too, but not the same way Logan thought. He was more compassionate. Empathetic. Patton wished a bit of that had rubbed off on Logan, too… but it was too late to start making wishes on things that happened before the fire.

That said, there was no guarantee Logan would simply stand still and let Patton chew him out. No, he was still Logan Stein, after all; he was a vampire extraordinaire and highbrow businessman. He didn’t _need _Patton’s opinion, and he’d made that perfectly clear in the years they had spent working together in tense, uncomfortable tandem.

But… hadn’t that changed, too? Patton paused in front of an apartment door, digging into his pocket for the key. Logan had learned to listen to him. He had hoped for… what was it he said? Camaraderie. Friendship. Patton chewed his bottom lip as he put the key into the lock and turned. With a solid _thunk_, the tumbler turned. Patton took a breath. If they _were _friends… why had he done this? Why had he hidden so much?

Why did he have to take Roman away?

Patton pushed the door open slowly, his hand on the palm of the door as he peeked inside. The apartment was dark, but the space was massive. Large windows lined the far wall, but the curtains were drawn. Moonlight highlighted them anyway, outlining a bed that was placed against the wall. Patton hesitated… then stepped inside, closing the door behind himself.

A body was laying in that bed, still and calm despite Patton walking into the room. There was a small lamp in the corner. Patton reached for it, pulled the chain, and held his breath as he saw _Roman_ lying, still and stiff, atop the blankets. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Roman was dead. Laid out for display before his casket was placed in the ground. But… no. No, he was breathing. Slow, deep breaths and soft sighs that left Patton trembling where he stood in the corner.

When he approached the bed, his body blocked the light of the lamp, throwing shadows across the room without thought or merit. He walked to Roman’s side, sitting down on the bed and reaching out to brush his knuckles over Roman’s cheek. By god he was _warm_… warm and real and soft, right there, next to him. Roman’s eyelashes fluttered… and he opened his eyes.

He smiled tiredly. “My oh my… I _must _have gone to heaven,” he said, “Because I see an angel standing over me.”

Patton’s vision wobbled as he laughed and shook his head. He was _alive_, just like Virgil had promised. Patton knew that Virgil didn’t have any right to make such a promise… but he did it anyway, because he loved Patton and wanted him to be happy. Friendship was a wonderful thing, despite the poor circumstances under which it was tested.

Patton leaned down, pressing a kiss to lips that were warm to the touch. It was almost surprising, feeling him like this. Having him hot with blood and breathing slow and deep beneath him. He kissed him again, and Roman sighed happily. So he kissed him again. And again. And again…

Roman broken away with a gasp, his eyes wide as he took a big gulp of air. “_Heaven_, I…” he took another shuddering breath. “I’ve completely forgotten that I need to breathe. Feels like my lungs are on _fire_…” he gave Patton a curious look. “Does this happen to you when we kiss?”

Leaning back a little, Patton couldn’t help but laugh. It was a laugh that was high and caught up in his lungs, pulling and prickling as he rocked forward and braced his elbows on his knees. Roman reached for him, a gentle hand brushing over his shoulder as he laughed into his hands. Tears burned hot as they rolled down his face.

Roman struggled to sit up, an arm around Patton’s shoulder as he murmured, “Angel… darling, are you alright?”

Patton lifted his face from his hands, looking at Roman’s deep, dark eyes and furrowed brow. He didn’t flicker, now. He didn’t go hazy or translucent. He was physical, and heavy, right there with him. Patton fumbled for him, his hands going up to grab at Roman’s hair and pull him in for a messy, desperate kiss.

“You were _gone_.” Patton’s fingertips pressed under Roman’s jaw, feeling his pulse. It was rapid and fluttering, but he was alive. Roman moaned, and Patton swallowed the sound. With shaking hands, Patton tugged at Roman’s curling, perfect hair and stuttered, “You were gone, and I didn’t know where you went.”

“I know,” Roman moaned as he leaned back and dragged Patton down with him. Splayed out on the blankets, he kissed Patton gently. So gently, it almost hurt. His lips dragged down Patton’s neck as he murmured, “I’m sorry. _I’m sorry_.”

“I don’t…” Patton shook his head and slotted himself in the space between Roman’s thighs. “I don’t want you to be sorry, sugarcane.”

Roman’s eyes close as he groaned, “God _lord_ you feel wonderful.”

Feeling the burn of a blush under his skin, Patton ducked his head into the crook of Roman’s neck and sighed, “Don’t try to butter me up.”

“I wouldn’t,” Roman promised belatedly. “Just appreciating how I can actually _feel _you.”

“Roman, look at me. _Look _at me.” Patton waited until those eyes opened and looked up at him, awed and glittering with stars in the low lamp-light. Holding over him, Patton murmured, “Where did you go? What _happened_ to you? You were just _gone_.”

Roman blinked up at him, cast in shadow and burning alive from the inside. He breathed, and it was a relief. “Logan took me outside. Dragged me, really. I still can’t walk on my own.”

Patton passed a trembling hand through Roman’s hair. “Poor thing…”

Roman didn’t smile. “He needed someone to take the fall. So he picked me. Used _my _body. The… the extra body.” He reached up a hand to pull on the back of Patton’s neck dragging him down, down, down… into a kiss. A slow one, this time. Slow… and _warm_. Patton would have to get used to that. When Patton pulled back, Roman let out a long, happy moan. “Good _god_, I must be in heaven. Are you sure you’re not an angel?”

“Shush,” Patton whispered as he kissed him again.

Roman melted beneath him, reaching up with tired, heavy hands to touch whatever he could. Patton arched against him, a gasp here, a moan there… and Roman kept trying to _say things_. His eyelashes fluttered, his hands wandered and body shivered with anticipation, and Patton kissed him. Swallowed up the words, scrubbed away the poetry and left raw, fretful statements in their wake. He had Roman beneath him, undone and gasping, and Patton was finally, _finally _relieved.

“God, if I’d known—” Roman promised when he could catch his breath. Patton’s hand was working on his belt, pulling away his pants while Roman sat up and shakily removed his shirt. “If I’d known what Logan was planning, I—”

“I know,” Patton murmured as he tipped Roman back and kissed down a blushing, tan chest. Roman shivered under him, his fingernails leaving long, hot scratches down Patton’s shoulder blades. Patton hissed at the abuse, and Roman was quick to apologize. Patton shimmied up, kissing his lips again. “Don’t be sorry, darlin’. Don’t be sorry.”

Roman laughed at that. “Oh, that’s unfair. Using that accent against me.”

Patton couldn’t help but smile at that. “If you get to use your flowery words,” he said as he laid himself down against Roman. The result was a long, blissful moan from the both of them. Roman’s head tipped back against the pillows, his body rising up to meet Patton’s as his warm bare skin met Patton’s cooler flesh. Patton braced himself on his elbows, leaning over Roman with heavy-lidded eyes and a cheeky smile. “Then I get to use my accent.”

Roman let out a breathless laugh. “Oh, cruel angel. Should I call you a demon instead?”

Patton shook his head and kissed Roman again. It was incredible to have him there, warm and physical and trembling with excitement. They’d only been apart for a few days. Desperate and reaching for each other on any available plain of existence. And there he was, blushing and gasping for Patton with such conviction it was too good to be true. He wanted to bury himself in Roman’s arms, to disappear in him and hide away from the uncanny and unbearable reality that was torturing them.

“Patton—” Roman started, gasped, and hooked a leg around his hips. He was hard and wanton, pulse straining at his neck as he looked at Patton desperately. “Come, love. Don’t tease.”

Patton let out a disbelieving breath as he leaned down to kiss Roman. “Tease? This is your first time actually _feeling_ anything… and you want me to rush?”

“We’ll make love again,” Roman gasped breathlessly. “Again. A thousand times. You’ll have me every night if you want me, but _dear god_, take me now before I die again.”

Patton reached between them, his hand wrapping around Roman’s cock and stroking slow and even while Roman’s fingernails dug into his shoulders again. He kept the pace slow, drawing out each breathless, happy moan from Roman like a hard-won prize. Regardless of Roman, he wouldn’t hurry. This was their moment away from the world. Wherever Logan was, he was sure to be bitter and angry and pointedly planning their quick exit from this town.

But that wasn’t his worry. Not now. Not with Roman shivering and gasping under him. He kissed along his neck, his cheeks, his eyes… and Roman laughed beneath him, breathless and happy. So many years, Roman had been loving him. It was time for Roman to experience that treatment. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough to express what he felt. But it was a start.

Patton, however, was unprepared for Roman to flip their positions on the bed, pinning him back against the blankets with a wide, smug grin on his face. Patton blinked up at him, his glasses knocked askew and eyes wide. Impatient, impatient, that was Roman Prince.

He made his point when he ducked down his kiss Patton, clearly trying to show he could handle something a bit faster… only to have his trembling arms give away his strain. Patton cradled his face, kissing him slow as Roman sighed into his mouth, “Patton, darling, _please_.”

Patton hummed, giving Roman another stroke. He wanted Roman, of _course _he did… but not without thought. There was love in each gesture. Reason behind each word and thought. He eased Roman onto his back once more, careful to stretch him. Roman’s face pinched at first, unaccustomed to the strain, but Patton was quick to soothe him.

“We can stop,” he offered, drawing back just enough for Roman to loop his arms around Patton’s neck and draw him back in. Roman caught his breath, and Patton rubbed their noses together. “If it hurts, we can stop.”

“Patton. My dearest. My darling,” Roman held his face and forced their eyes to meet. “I can finally _feel _you. I can finally make love to you. Please,” he said, “Please hear me when I say I want to.”

Burying his face in the crook of Roman’s neck, Patton thrust two fingers into Roman, feeling a tug of excitement when Roman gasped and shivered. Soon, a third finger was added and Roman was trembling apart in his hands. Leaning back, Patton watched his mouth stretch around a surprised, elated “_oh!” _whenever he curled his fingers. Roman bucked against him, blissful and thoroughly ravished. And, oh, Patton would watch that forever. Just the _bliss _on his face. The blatant _happiness_. He wanted that forever. He wanted Roman to feel like this _always_.

“P-Patton,” Roman gasped, his breath hitching and spine arching as he whined, high and keening. “Oh, please. Please…!”

Patton didn’t want to stop. He could take Roman of course… but like this? Spread open and gasping for him, his cock untouched and leaking, his expression so close to release? It was almost better than sex. Just the sheer _ecstasy_ that was Roman… Patton could almost forget the hell they’d gone through to get here.

“N… no!” Roman gasped, reaching down to grab Patton’s wrist. Patton stilled immediately; his eyes wide as Roman looked up at him. His chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath, a blush spread down to his chest as he reached up, tangled a hand in Patton’s hair, and pulled their mouths together in a sloppy kiss before he could sputter, “You know what I want, angel.”

Patton did. Of course he did. Hooking a hand under Roman’s knee, he pulled his leg up and marveled at the firm warmth of him. Roman looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, knowing and more than ready. Patton kissed the side of his knee, lined himself up, and pushed in. Bit by bit, he pushed forward and shivered at the hot warmth that was Roman. Roman pressed his head back against the pillows, his jaw clenched and body arching away from the pillows.

“Patton!”

“I’ve got you,” Patton breathed as he held himself over Roman with one hand, the other gripping Roman’s thigh so tight, there were sure to be bruises in the coming days. His arms shook as he gripped Roman’s hip and pulled him ever closer. Roman’s breath caught, and Patton gasped, “I’ve got you. Are you alright?” Roman groaned, and Patton repeated, “Are you alright?”

Roman hummed, his jaw still clenched as he screwed his eyes tight. “It’s… _so much_. You’ve had me all these… all… all these y-years. And I never felt all of this,” he managed to gasp, his eyes fluttering open to give Patton a dazed smile through a fan of sweaty hair. “I wish I could’ve had this so much sooner.”

Patton kissed him hard, relishing the way Roman’s fingers tangled in his hair and pulled. They were as close as they could get, skin slick with sweat and hearts racing in tandem, each beat chasing the next. They wouldn’t last long, Patton knew that. They were both high on the feeling of one another, too far gone for any more words. Roman took one hand and laced their fingers together as he let his head fall back against the pillows.

Each moan rang off the walls. The room was so empty and open, each sound, each movement, it was all escalated to a greater volume. Patton thrust slowly, rocking into Roman until the pinched look on Roman’s face melted into something blissfully pleased. The heat built up, a steady burn that scorched deep under the skin, hotter, warmer, brighter… Roman bucked against him, and Patton squeezed his hand hard.

Roman gasped, his mouth shaping around a word, and Patton nodded. He could feel the tension building. Roman’s toes curled and his breathing caught, and Patton moved faster, his hand going between them to stroke Roman in time with each thrust. That made Roman cry out, heated and devastated as he came hard and hot in Patton’s hand. When he clenched around Patton, Patton was helpless to follow, tumbling over the edge of orgasm as Roman shook and trembled under him. He saw stars explode behind closed eyes, streaks of white light and lightning across his skin before he collapsed against Roman’s heaving chest.

They lay there for a moment, gasping and stuck to one another… until Roman let out a laugh. Patton looked at him, and Roman laughed again, harder this time.

“That was the best sex of my life,” he laughed, finding his joke to be the funniest thing he’d ever said. Patton laughed with him, burying his face in Roman’s neck as tears welled in his eyes. Had he really assumed Roman to be dead? God, what would he have done if Roman were really gone? He would’ve been broken. Inconsolable. But here he was, warm and content and looked at him like he held all the secrets to the world. Roman reached out to swipe a thumb over Patton’s cheek. “Tell me it’s like that every time.”

“It’s warm now,” Patton whispered softly. “You used to be so cold.”

Roman thought about that for a moment, reaching out to take one of Patton’s hands. He dragged it over his chest, placing Patton’s palm over his heart as he sighed happily. His heartbeat was steady, slowing from its excited, mad thud to a calmer, rational pace. Patton smiled at the feeling, and Roman gazed at him fondly. “And now?”

Patton smiled softly. “You’re warm, sugarcane. Warm as a bright summer mornin’.”

Roman laughed at that, his sunshine smile almost too bright for the low light of the room. They had responsibilities outside. A life to hide away and a past to escape right outside those walls. But not yet. Not now. Now, they laid in each other’s arms, marveling at the makeshift sanctuary that Logan had bought for them five years ago. They hid away from the madness for a while, quiet and sure in their serenity. They were safe, for now. They had each other.

And that was all they wanted.

+++++

The air was sharp and uncomfortable where Logan stood with his hands raised in surrender. Charlotte’s hand shook. If anything spooked her, she was liable to pull the trigger. It wouldn’t bother Logan nearly so much if the barrel wasn’t pointed at his head. One good shot to the brain and he was dead. But, even if she _missed_, the gunshot would alarm the neighbors across the street. They would come running… and whoever was left standing would be left to deal with the aftermath.

Logan didn’t like either option.

“How good is your aim?” He asked cordially, seeing a flicker of distain in Charlotte’s eyes. “Trust me. You’ll want to be sure.”

After a hint of hesitation, Charlotte laughed. “Why? Do I need silver bullets to kill you? Is that the problem? You’re… some crazy… undead thing.”

“As are you,” Logan admitted. “If only partially. And silver bullets are an urban legend. Any bullet to the brain could kill a vampire.”

Charlotte still smiled, despite the tremble of her hand. “Not a stake to the heart?”

“A stake to the heart would kill any _human_, yes. And given enough excessive force and tearing, it could potentially kill me,” he gave her a hard look. “But I don’t see you as one who can stomach that amount of carnage.”

Charlotte’s smile fell as she braced the pistol with both hands. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you’re afraid,” he said, “And desperate. But you’ll gain nothing by killing me. Killing me here won’t make your oncoming death _easier_, Charlotte,” he said, pleading for her to see reason. With the way her eyes remained cold and distant, the words didn’t seem to settle with her. He tried again. “You won’t _gain_ anything. Killing for sake of killing isn’t the motivation of a sane person.”

“Do you _want _me to shoot you?” Charlotte asked, a hint of laughter in her voice. “I’m holding a gun and you’re calling me crazy.”

Logan grimaced. “You’ve threatened to send me to the afterlife as a welcoming gift for my partner. These are not logical threats, Miss Fields.”

“I’m going to shoot you,” she said calmly, “Because you have it coming.”

Logan despised how much that statement made sense. He almost wanted to respond, but he wouldn’t. No, he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Actually, he let her shift her stance and brace herself as she cocked the gun.

“Mr. Stein, my mom was _not _a normal person.”

“I wouldn’t assume that she was.”

Charlotte glowered. “If only she’d had someone to help her. Someone who knew what she was going through.”

“Again, Miss Fields, Patton didn’t—”

She stomped her foot and the floor groaned ominously. “I know he didn’t know!” She shouted, one hand waving the gun in the air as she glared at him. “He didn’t know because you took him away!”

Licking his lips uneasily, Logan kept his hands in the air as he said, “Didn’t your grandmother live a fulfilling life? With a loving husband?”

Charlotte blinked hard and trained the gun on him again. “Y… yeah.”

“And being with Patton wouldn’t have been nearly as fulfilling. It wouldn’t have been a happy family, Charlotte.” He gave her a long, hard look. Her eyes darted to the side, uneasy and unsure as she shifted her weight between her feet. “You know I’m right.”

“Shut up,” she said, and when he opened his mouth, she shouted, “Shut up! You don’t get it! You don’t know what I’ve been through! You just want to talk me down!”

“Charlotte, please—”

“No!” She hissed. “No. If I can only do one thing before I bite the bullet? It’ll definitely be putting one in your head.”

“Charlotte—” he tried again, only to have her stabilize the gun with her other hand. He clenched his jaw. Charlotte’s heart was racing. The house moaned. The wind was screaming. Her finger was on the trigger, squeezing just slow enough to make Logan rethink his idea of wrestling it from her grip.

He didn’t get the chance.

“Hey, _bitch!_” Virgil shouted from the top of the crumbled stairs. Charlotte spun on her heel, wide-eyed and alarmed, but didn’t react fast enough when Virgil swung a shovel at her. With a long, ringing, _CLANG_, Charlotte hit the floor and the gun spun out of her grip and into the wreckage of the house. Virgil hefted up the shovel, looking down at her limp body with a hint of disgust as he said, “If you want him… you gotta go through me.”

Logan let out a breath he wasn’t sure he’d been holding. “Virgil, I—”

“No. No, no, no…” Virgil wagged a finger at him, almost like he was scolding. With that shovel in-hand, eyes colder than space, and lips in a thin, serious line, he painted quite the picture. “I want don’t want to hear _anything _from you, you stupid son of a bitch.”

“I can’t believe I’m happy to hear you call me that,” Logan said, positively lovesick at the sight of Virgil, standing there, brandishing a shovel with all the confidence of an infantryman holding a shotgun.

“Shut up,” Virgil snapped, bitter and angry where he stood. His hands were shaking; he wasn’t used to taking a life. Logan knew this. But there was a chance Charlotte wasn’t dead. Then again, if she _was_, he was merely speeding-up the inevitable. That would still muddle with Logan’s plans… Virgil’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “What. The _fuck_. Was all of this?”

Logan blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Virgil gestured to the rubble of the mortuary. The charred remains of the stairs. The sky. The earth. Everything. And then he snapped, “What the _hell _were you thinking?”

Logan arched a delicate eyebrow. “I was thinking that something had to be done.”

“And you thought _arson_ was the solution.”

“There’s no better way to destroy a paper trail than with fire, Virgil.”

Virgil threw his hands into the air as he threw the shovel in Logan’s direction wildly. Logan ducked and watched several pieces of the wall fall apart under the shovel-assault. He gave Virgil a baffled look, only to earn himself an angry, shouted: “You stupid asshole! I was _this _close to assuming you left!”

Logan flinched at that, his chest twinging at the thought. “You really think I’d leave you like this?” He asked, looking around at the smoldering husk that was the mortuary. Around them, the air was crisp. The snow was freezing into ice. At his feet, Charlotte Fields was limp on the scorched floor. He looked up, meeting Virgil’s volatile gaze with a stony expression. “You really think I’d burn the house down and leave you in the ashes?”

Virgil’s confidence shattered in an instant, his hands shaking as he sputtered, “No. No, I know… I _know _you wouldn’t, I just—” He cuffed a hand through his hair, shaking and wide-eyed as he gasped, “I came here on a whim. I didn’t… I didn’t know if you’d be here, but I thought. Maybe. _Maybe_. Then I saw her with the gun, and I—”

Walking across the unstable wood floors carefully, Logan stepped over Charlotte and met Virgil at the top of the stairs. Virgil was on him before he had a chance to properly apologize, his arms thrown Logan’s neck and fingers grasping at his coat desperately. Logan held him back with just the same amount of vigor, holding him close and inhaling the irritatingly familiar scent of Emile Picani’s herbal shop on his clothing. They’d have to rectify that. Make him smell like _Virgil _again.

“No more secret plans,” Virgil gasped into his collar. Logan nodded, and Virgil leaned back to kiss him hard, his sharp canine teeth tearing at Logan’s lip. Neither man cared. Black blood smeared against Virgil’s lips like a newfound lipstick, and when he pulled back, he was pale-faced and highlighted by a cold, winter moon. Black lips. Dark circles under his eyes. Gray irises glittering with angry, hot tears. He tangled his fingers in Logan’s hair and pulled their foreheads together. “_No more secrets._”

“No,” Logan promised breathlessly, a tight, angry feeling in his chest. His hands fumbled at Virgil’s hoodie, trying to find an adequate place to tether himself… but nothing felt like enough. In the end, he simply latched himself onto Virgil, burying his face in Virgil’s shoulder and breathing deep until he could find _Virgil’s _scent with his arms wrapped around him so tight, a normal human being would shatter in the embrace. “Good _god_, no. No more secrets.”

Virgil’s left hand caught in his hair, holding Logan in place while the other rubbed his back. Logan blinked, belatedly realizing that he was crying. Was it delayed shock? Relief? Sheer _happiness_ to have Virgil there, safe and real in his arms? Maybe a combination of all three. Charlotte could have killed him. She could have pulled that trigger and tore a bullet through his brain by sheer, painful luck. She could have ripped him from the world and, in turn, from Virgil. One pull of a trigger, and he’d have never seen Virgil again.

Pulling back, Logan pressed a desperate kiss to Virgil’s lips. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, seeing the way Virgil’s gray eyes flickered over his face anxiously. Logan said it again. Again and again, “I’m so sorry. That all of this. _Any _of this… if there was… a better way to erase myself from this. To make it all go away, I would’ve done it. I would’ve… _should _have—”

“Yeah,” Virgil nodded, a dark look in his eyes as he held Logan steady in the winter wind. “Yeah, you should have. But you didn’t. You are _damn _lucky I came here.”

Logan huffed a single laugh that held no trace of humor, his eyes downturned as his hands settled on Virgil’s hips. “Why _did _you come here, Virgil? I left no trace of myself… well, _anywhere_. The police no longer remember me. So how…?”

Dipping his hand into his back pocket, Virgil produced a small bottle. It was slightly larger than his thumb with a small piece of tack as a cap. Inside, a bit of powder was contained. Logan twitched at the sight, snatching the bottle from his hands as Virgil said, “Emile said to come here. With this.”

Logan glanced at him, his eyes searching Virgil for any sort of understanding. He held the bottle up, shaking it slightly to make the powder catch and shimmer in the moonlight. “Do you know what this is?”

Virgil arched an eyebrow. “More of that stuff you stole from Emile?”

Startled, Logan actually _laughed_. “Yes. Yes, it is… but do you know what it _does_?”

Virgil blinked slowly. “I wanna be a smartass and say it’s just _really _nice cocaine, but I don’t have the energy. No, I have no idea what it does.”

Logan smiled a bit, a bittersweet feeling overcoming him as he looked back to Charlotte. Her heart was still beating. It was faint, but it was still beating. She would probably be suffering from a concussion when she woke. But Logan and Virgil couldn’t stay long enough to find out. Tucking the powder into his coat pocket, Logan carefully gathered Charlotte into his arms and pulled her up from the floor.

“Woah, woah, woah… she just tried to kill you,” Virgil said with a gesture to Charlotte. “Are we just… ignoring that?”

“No,” Logan said tiredly as he glanced at the gun that was trapped under the rubble. When the mortuary was knocked down for repair, it would be found. They would be long gone by then. So, he left it where it was, leading Virgil back down to the first floor carefully. When they had picked their way to the front yard, Logan was able to lay Charlotte out in the frosty grass and look at her head. No blood. Not even a crack in the skin or skull. Virgil had just _barely _knocked her unconscious. Logan sighed. “It’s time to put this to bed and be done with it.”

Virgil stiffened and took a step back. “I’m 90 percent sure you don’t mean killing her. But my brain is still jumping to ‘he wants to kill her’ territory.”

“Oh, I do,” Logan assured him as he produced the small bottle from his pocket and removed the small, tacky cap. “She threatened to kill me so I could serve as a welcome-present to the Netherworld for you.”

“What the—_okay _so crazy women are going to be a theme with you.” Virgil nodded as he walked in a loose circle. Logan cracked a smile at that, and Virgil said, “And you’re just… leaving her here? Not going to kill her because…?”

“Because there’s no point.” Logan looked down at Charlotte. He saw Patton’s tired, restless expression in hers. The curve of his jaw, and the messy fall of his hair. He saw his _friend _in her… but he also saw a stranger with those lips, the sharp nose, and a brow that was furrowed with dark, dark thought. Logan murmured, “She’s already dying, Virgil. Wouldn’t it be better to grant her peace than an unceremonious end?”

Virgil wrapped his arms around himself, looking down at Charlotte crossly. “Won’t she just… come after us again? Go to other witches and alchemists for answers?”

“No,” Logan promised sharply. “No, she won’t.”

Working carefully, Logan dusted the powder over her eyelids and focused on his presence. A narrow string of memories required more precision. She knew more of him than the police. She had spoken with him more. Felt him. Heard him. She was _angry _with Logan Stein, and that kind of anger left scars on memory. But, with enough effort, she would wake up completely free of him. She would remember _nothing _of this incident. Nothing of _him_ or his mortuary. She would forget… and she would spend the rest of her days free. Free of him, free of anger… and maybe even free of regret.

“I may have burned the paper trail,” Logan said as he stood up and pocketed the empty bottle. “But memories are a little harder to misplace.”

Virgil blinked, his eyes flickering from Logan to Charlotte. “She’ll… she’ll just… forget us. Like that.”

“She’ll forget me, at the very least,” Logan murmured gently as he led Virgil away from Charlotte and toward the cemetery. They lingered on the edge of the fence and he tipped his head back, looking at the charred bones of his prized mortuary. It had served him well for half a decade… to see it reduced to this was almost sad. He sighed to himself, allowing Virgil to curl against his side and lean his head on his chest. With an arm around Virgil’s shoulders, Logan sighed again. “You need to be remembered. You have family here.”

Virgil snorted. “I have a _dad _here. That doesn’t mean he’s family.”

Logan glanced at him. “I don’t follow.”

“My dad sucks,” Virgil summarized shortly. Logan knew Virgil didn’t care for his father… and disliked speaking about him. Logan knew that he was a religious man. He probably didn’t respect Virgil’s life choices. He probably didn’t respect Virgil at all. With a purse of his lips, Logan thought to himself for a moment, only to brought out of his thoughts by Virgil’s calloused and angry muttering. “Can’t believe I just… forgot about my dad for a while.”

Logan raised his eyebrows, reaching up to adjust his glasses as they watched icy-snow blow through the gaps in the mortuary walls. “Has he made an effort to reach out? To speak to you?”

“Not really.” A pause, and then, “And that’s okay.”

Logan nodded thoughtfully. “He doesn’t know about me, does he?” It wasn’t a question. Still, Virgil answered without malice.

“No, he doesn’t. I don’t want him getting in your face about his crazy bible-thumping speeches.” Virgil frowned hard and wrapped an arm around Logan’s waist, pulling himself a little closer as he mumbled, “Even if I _did _tell him, it wouldn’t matter. I don’t really care what he would say.”

“So,” Logan said thoughtfully. “Were I to ask for your hand, I wouldn’t have to ask for his blessing.”

Virgil stiffened, his neck craning back to look up at Logan. “What?”

“I have to disappear,” Logan said tersely. “I need to leave the state. This will most likely include changing my name.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “’kay.”

“I would like you to accompany me,” he said bluntly. “Wherever my place of residence may be. If you’re willing.”

Virgil nodded numbly. “Yeah.”

“For a _very _long time, it was traditional to ask for a father’s blessing on the marriage of a potential couple to be wed,” Logan stared up at the mortuary, ignoring the way Virgil’s eyes went wide. The fingernails digging into his shoulder were distracting though. “But seeing as you and your father are on bad terms—”

“Logan.”

“Yes?”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

Logan looked at him, and Virgil stared up at him with wide, baffled eyes. His arm around Virgil’s shoulders tightened and he said, “I thoroughly enjoy your company, Virgil Sanders. I can’t imagine spending the rest of my eternity without you in my bed each morning and night. I have always worked alone… until you came to me. You quite literally _fell _into my life, and I…” Logan took a breath and looked to the mortuary again, his eyes catching on the fence that surrounded the cemetery. “I don’t think I’ll _ever _be the same.”

“Logan,” Virgil said again, “Are you asking me to _marry you_?”

Logan clicked his tongue. “I don’t have a ring to offer you.”

“Logan.”

He fidgeted with his glasses. “I’d planned to do this… much later. At a… _better time_.”

“_Logan_, Jesus Christ, just…” Virgil’s voice shook, and Logan looked at him… but there wasn’t fear in his eyes. He was smiling. He looked _excited_ by this prospect. “You’ve gotta like… _say it_.”

With a slow blink, Logan lowered himself to one knee, marveling at the way Virgil flapped his hands and jumped in place. He was… happy. He was beaming. A smile from ear-to-ear as Logan knelt in the cold snow. “We haven’t known each other very long,” Logan began slowly, only to have Virgil interrupt.

“I don’t care.”

“And we’ll have to leave this town. You won’t be able to come back for years—decades, probably. That means you won’t see Remy or Mr. Picani again. Not here.”

Virgil nodded. “I know.”

Logan reached out a hand, and Virgil took it, his hands shaking as he squeezed Logan’s hand so hard, it was nearly painful. Logan licked his lips. “Virgil, would you—”

“Yes.”

“Let me finish,” Logan barked. Virgil smirked and nodded. “Virgil, would you do me the honor of marrying me and taking a name that belongs to _neither _of us? It will change in about a decade when we move to a new home.”

Virgil laughed out loud, bent over double as he gasped, “Find a more romantic way to say that.”

Logan smiled, waiting for Virgil to catch his breath and look at him. Their stares held for a moment, a long, lingering moment before Logan murmured, “Marry me, Virgil. If this is what life is with you… joy and suffering and relief with you… it’s all I want. Waking up with you in my bed, working with you each night, and sleeping away the day. It’s more than any one man should be offered. But I’ll give it to you. Anything. Everything. All you want, and it’s yours. I only ask—”

“Yes,” Virgil interrupted, that same smile on his face as he held Logan’s hand tight. “Yes, I will.”

Logan stood, but before he could solidify his footing, Virgil threw his arms around him and kissed him. They fell back, hitting the cemetery fence with a loud, metallic _CLANG_, but neither of them cared. They held each other tight. They kissed like it was the first time… and, in a manner of ways, it _was _a first time. It was the first time Logan had ever been engaged, and hopefully the last.

Now all they had to do was the easy part: they had to disappear.

+++++

Across the town in a small herbal-remedy shop, Emile Picani poured himself a shot of tequila. He didn’t like to drink, but some of his prized stock had been given away for _no particular reason _that evening. Why had he given it away? Because he was a soft old sod, that was why. Too soft-hearted to turn his back on Logan Stein and wish him ‘good riddance.’

No, he _felt _too much in the air. He felt pain in Virgil when he learned that Logan was gone. Agony in Patton when his partner didn’t reappear… and when there was hope in them, oh, it burned brighter than a golden aura. So he’d gone soft on them, as knew he would. He catered to their needs, as only a bleeding-heart could. And, he’d given away hundreds of dollars of product in the form of _very _potent powders, just to make sure they would vanish with ease.

So, he picked up the shot glass, knocked it back, and winced at the burn that followed. Oh, tequila would _not _be a favorite, even if he _liked _alcohol. From the doorway, Remy let out a long, low whistle.

“_Damn_, Emile. You’re going harder than…” he paused, took off his sunglasses, and gave his uncle a strange look. “I don’t think you _ever _go hard. What’s up?”

Emile licked his lips – a regrettable choice with the bitter tingle on his tongue – and shivered a little. “Oh, celebrating,” he said, letting out a weak, “_Wahoo_.”

Rolling his eyes, Remy entered the backroom and sat down at Emile’s little reading table, glancing down at the tequila bottle strangely. “So. Virge left?”

Emile poured himself a shot. Thought for a moment… and pour Remy a shot, too. Remy didn’t complain. They _clinked_, and the shots went down. Emile hissed and set his glass down. “Yeah, he left. I’m a… little worried to be honest.”

“No surprise there. You worry about _everyone_.” Remy took the turn to pour this time. _Clink. _And the glasses hit the table. “_Phoooo_… this stuff is _hot_ goin’ down,” he shook his head and his golden eyes shimmered when they met Emile’s. “So, we’re getting drunk because we’re worried?”

Emile poured. _Clink_… pause… and the glasses slammed down. Emile’s ears were ringing a little as he said, “N-no. No, we’re drinking because I’d rather forget about them th-_this _way. Instead of by pavlov—Bolivian pavin-powder.”

Remy snorted. “Pavlovian pavin-powder. Can you fucking _imagine_?”

Emile frowned at that and watched Remy pour. He was Remy’s _uncle. _He was setting a bad example. They were both lightweights. All these factors pointed to a universal truth: this wasn’t going to end well. Nonetheless, the shot glasses _clicked _together, they knocked back the shots, and both coughed a little when the tequila went down.

With his head spinning, Emile took off his glasses and set them aside, looking at a blurry vision of his nephew. “You know he’s… he’s not coming back, sweetheart. He’s not… Virgil’s not comin’ back.”

Remy hummed and leaned his chin into his palm tired. “Yeah—” he hiccupped, “Yeah, I know.” He paused and twisted the glass a few times. “He said we’ll k-keep in touch. Text and shit. It’s… I knew he couldn’t stay here. ‘m not stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid!” Emile reached across the table to pat Remy’s wrist. “You’re a _very _smart boy. Mmm… I’m very proud you’re my nephew.”

Remy snorted and waved away the affection with a smile. Emile poured unevenly, spilled a little on the table, and Remy laughed. “I’m proud I can drink my uncle under the table, baby!”

“Drink me under the table,” Emile snorted and set the bottle aside. “We’ll see. You’re a lightweight like my sister… I don’t think we’ll last long.”

The glasses _clinked_ and Emile paused with the glass to his lips. His eyes went unfocused. Something had changed in town. A spell he had cast? A prayer being rejected? Magic fluctuation… but in a base-level. Without malice or frustration. Soft like cotton, cold like ice… it was _something_. And that _something _hit him like a brick wall as he stared into the distance, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Hey!” Remy snapped indignantly as he slammed his empty shot-glass on the table. “You’re… you’re _cheating_! You’re supposed to _drank_, Emile!”

Emile set the shot-glass on the table gently. He didn’t drink. He felt discomfortingly sober. “She forgot,” he said softly. Remy’s irritation disappeared. He looked afraid. No, not afraid… concerned. They both knew who he meant. The girl with the gray aura. The one that had frightened Valorie. Her aura had been a constant presence in the town for a while, and now… all was quiet. A shift so startling, it left him a little chilled. Emile blinked slowly. “She just… forgot.”

Remy fidgeted with his glass. “Wasn’t that what the powder was for?”

“Yes. I didn’t think,” Emile’s eyes wandered over the to the shelves for a moment, eyeing the glasses and liquids and powders… only to close his eyes and sigh, “Mr. Stein did this for her. I thought… here I was, thinking it was for _him_, so he could disappear. But it wasn’t.”

Remy looked at him. Their eyes met, gold on gold where one held strong ties to magic and the other could only grasp at the threads. Remy’s brow furrowed. “Is it bad? Like… she forgot. Is that… bad?”

“No,” Emile said softly, a weight off his shoulders as he screwed the cap back onto the tequila and set it aside. “No, it’s very good. There was a hanging gray over everything… _big _emotion out there. But the colors have evened-out. Softened. There’s… it’s like a sense of peace washed over everything. It’s cold… but in a good way.”

Remy glanced around the room, his fingers drumming on the table as he said, “It _is _cold.” Emile glanced at him, and he could see the glow of his eyes. He was straining. Reaching. Trying to _feel _what Emile could feel. He couldn’t. He wasn’t as strong as Emile. Even so, he tried. All he could feel were the elements reaching back to hold him, comforting him, cradling him in the energy of the Earth for lack of anything more they could do. “Bet it’ll snow tomorrow.”

Emile smiled and nodded. “I bet it will.”

+++++

It was a small house. Smaller than their former mortuary… but it was quaint. A mid-century modern that Roman claimed was “good for his soul.” Really, Logan was sure he enjoyed it for the express purpose of his room being on the first floor (he still struggled with stairs, despite Patton’s effort to help him). It was set on the coast of Maine, where the sea was cold, the wind bit deep, and the windows all faced west. Surely, this house had changed-hands in the Nether-community more than once. Logan only needed to see it once before he placed a bid.

Within a week, they were calling it _home_.

A new business was paved from the foundation-up. Patton was happy to play secretary again, already setting up books and planners for any and all services. A casket showroom was prepared, and Logan plotted plans for construction of a body-prepping room, already reaching out to the local morgue for business relations. Roman settled into the role of middleman with clients, speaking to them with that theatrically empathetic look on his face. Virgil proudly announced himself as Logan’s business partner, introducing himself to the neighbors with a wide, sharp smile. Logan had been nearly beside himself with pride.

Now they were sitting in the second week of December with the heat of the old house cranked high and Patton working away at the kitchen stove with a pleasant smile on his face as Roman sang to him from the table. They still had unpacking to do… plenty of things to unload and let breathe. But it was a quiet evening. A breath of relief as they settled, scarred but unbroken, in the present.

“Remy wants to visit,” Virgil said as he stepped into the living room and collapsed on the sofa that had been delivered that afternoon. He was staring at his phone, holding it up for display even though Logan couldn’t _possibly _read it from across the room. “He wants to see the new place when we’re settled.”

Logan twitched where he paused with a book in his hand; he _detested_ houseguests. Virgil had been a plain and simple exception, but he was _different_. Remy was… well, Remy was Remy. That was all that needed to be said. Regardless, relationships are full of compromise. If Remy was allowed to visit, Logan was allowed to ban a television from the bedroom. (“It’s too much noise, Virgil, we’ll _never _sleep.”)

“Remy will have to purchase his own plane ticket,” Logan said as he unpacked a box of first-edition medical journals and placed them on the shelf. The box had been an impulse buy when they traveled through a small town in New Hampshire, but one he enjoyed. The books that burned in their former mortuary were a great loss… and Virgil sad that empty bookshelves were depressing. On the sofa, Virgil hummed thoughtfully, and Logan said, “If he finds that disagreeable, remind him that we have recently bought a house. Our budget won’t allow for gifted airline vouchers.”

At the kitchen table, Roman laughed out loud, nearly choking on his dinner as he said, “Logan… worrying about _money_! Oh, the world has come to an end if the reigning king of pinching-pennies is worried about his _budget_.”

Logan glared at him. “Isn’t it past your _bedtime_, Roman?”

Roman blinked and took a bite of garlic bread before saying, “Was that supposed to offend me? You’ve lost your edge, Mr. Stein.”

“Mr. _Mend_,” Logan snapped crossly. Virgil had chosen the new name, and it _should _be respect, especially by half-baked wraiths possessing a body that would have to replaced after a few tired years. “I’m Logan _Mend_. Please be sure to remember it.”

“And he says ‘please!’” Roman sputtered dramatically. Pushing away from the table, Roman took his cane and hobbled his way over to the sofa where he leaned over Virgil and hissed, “What have you done with our Logan? Where is he?”

“You mean _my _Logan?” Virgil asked, a painfully innocent look on his face. He put his phone over his heart and sadly said, “He doesn’t exist anymore. My Logan disappeared. Vanished without a trace.”

At the stove, Patton giggled and continued to stir the soup. “What a pity!”

“Enough,” Logan growled as he slammed books onto the shelf harder than necessary. On the sofa, Virgil laughed and flashed the gold band on his finger.

“He did leave me a memento! A ring that symbolizes our _eternal love_.”

Roman cooed, “What a sap!” Virgil nodded, and Roman chuckled. “You must miss him terribly.”

“Every day,” Virgil said as he kicked his feet back and forth on the sofa. “I try to look him up sometimes, try to go back and find a picture of him… but no dice. It seems someone went through all public records and just… burned it all up. Like he never existed.”

Holding a hand to his heart, Roman stage-whispered in a scandalized voice, “Whomever would go around _burning_ records? What kind of _monster _would do such a thing?”

Logan continued to shelve his new books, attempting to ignore the conversation occurring behind him. While Roman wobbled back into the kitchen, Patton’s voice carried around the house, soft and content as Roman murmured to him in love, dulcet tones. Logan didn’t mind this. They were happy. It was… _nice _to see that. The happiness, as it were. After so long being distant and cold, allowing them warmth and comfort was a willing gift.

Still working away on his bookshelf, he heard the shift of the sofa as Virgil stood up, and he heard the soft creak of the floorboards behind him. Virgil’s arms wrapped around his middle and his chin perched on Logan’s shoulder. It was comfort incarnate, Virgil against him and the cool of his ring against Logan’s arm. Logan smiled and leaned back against him, cherishing the feeling of Virgil holding him a bit tighter.

“Hey, Mr. Mend. You have any idea where my husband could be?”

Logan placed his hand over Virgil’s, their matching gold rings glinting in the low light. He looked at Virgil and caught a smile in those gray eyes as he replied, “Why, Mr. Mend… I couldn’t possibly say.”

\+ END +

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho, so we hit the end! Records have been burned, names have been changed... hopefully this means peace for Logan and his found family. (Yes, Logan and Virgil _are_ married. Can I get a wahoo?)  
It's been an _absolute blast_ being able to bring these boys back for a sequel, and even better to give it a good ending.  
Thank you to everyone who supported the story in its making and thank you to everyone who read it.  
Without the feedback, I wouldn't have be able to write this at all!
> 
> If you want to keep up to date with what I'm doing (Or just want to say hi) I'm on Tumblr [Right Here](https://misplaced-my-notes.tumblr.com/).  
]
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for reading. I hope to see you in the next story!


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